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SHAKESPEARE 

THE MAN 
AND HIS WORKS 



Being all the Subject Matter about Shakespeare contained in 

MOULTON'S 

LIBRARY OF LITERARY CRITICISM 




SIBLEY & COMPANY 
BOSTON CHICAGO 



LIBRARY of ')^'^-:-HZSS 

APR 12 ly^^ 

i>U.'^<. ^ ■^'ic wo; 



JffilLKC ^Tpr rSrTggei 



Copyright, 1904, 
By SIBLEY & COMPANY. 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 



The subject matter of this little volume comprises all 
the material upon Shakespeare contained in Moulton^s 
Library of Literary Criticism of English and American 
Authors (8 vols.)- 

We have been so strongly impressed with its great 
value to students of Shakespeare that we have secured 
the right to issue, in handy form, this portion of the above 
named work. 

Right here is gathered and furnished in accessible form 
the most complete and satisfactory collection of literary 
appreciations of Shakespeare and his works extant. 
Three hundred seven writers are represented, including 
the most eminent in all periods since the time of the Great 
Bard. All shades of opinion have a place, and through 
the whole is given a most interesting and instructive view 
of the world's opinion of Shakespeare. 

We have printed the matter exactly as it was prepared 
by Mr. Moulton. Substantially all the articles have been 
collated with the original texts. 

The reader will quickly note, that the order of arrange- 
ment throughout is chronological; that each article is 
dated and located; that the opinions are arranged in four 
divisions — (Personal, Upon Each Work, Authorship Con- 
troversy, General) ; that the whole is made readily ac- 
cessible for reference by an excellent index. 

We believe this volume will prove of great interest and 
service to readers of Shakespeare. 

Sibley & Company. 

July, 1904. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

1. Synopsis of Shakespeare's Life i 

2. Shakespeare the Man i 

3. His Works 

A Lover's Complaint 29 

All's Well that Ends Well 146 

A Midsummer Night's Dream 59 

Antony and Cleopatra 219 

As You Like It 138 

Comedy of Errors 55 

Coriolanus 225 

Cymbeline 250 

Hamlet 149 

Henry IV. Parti 117 

Henry IV. Part II 123 

Henry V 132 

Henry VI. Part I 94 

Henry VI. Part II 98 

Henry VI. Part III 99 

Henry VIII 257 

Julius Caesar 174 

King John 100 

King Lear 201 

Love's Labor's Lost 49 

Macbeth 188 

iv 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE. 

His Works {Continued) 

Measure for Measure i68 

Merchant of Venice 105 

Merry Wives of Windsor 125 

Much Ado About Nothing 135 

Othello 178 

Pericles 234 

Richard II 82 

Richard III 85 

Romeo and Juhet 70 

Sonnets 29 

Taming of the Shrew 112 

The Passionate Pilgrim 37 

The Phoenix and the Turtle 39 

The Rape of Lucrece 25 

The Tempest 240 

Timon of Athens 229 

Titus Andronicus 41 

Troilus and Cressida 211 

Twelfth Night 143 

Two Gentlemen of Verona 67 

Two Noble Kinsmen 237 

Venus and Adonis 20 

Winter's Tale 253 

4. Rejected Plays 263 

5. The Authorship Controversy 268 

6. In General; the Author and His Works . . 278 

7. Index 363 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 

I564-I616 

William Shakespeare, 1564-16 16. Born, at Stratford-on-Avon, 
22 or 23 April 1564. Educated at Stratford Grammar School, 
1571-77 (?). Perhaps apprenticed to his father (a butcher), 
1577. Married Ann Hathaway, 1582. To London, 1586; acted, 
and wrote for stage. Plays probably written between 1591 and 
161 1. Bought New Place, Stratford, May 1597. Bought a 
house in Blackfriars, 1613. Died, at Stratford-on-Avon, 23 
April 1616. Buried in Stratford Church. Works: The follow- 
ing are known to have been printed in Shakespeare's lifetime: 
"Venus and Adonis," 1593; "Lucrece," 1594; "Richard III.," 
1597; "Richard II.," 1597; "Romeo and JuUet," 1597; "Henry 
IV., Pt. I.," 1598; "Love's Labour's Lost," 1598; "Henry V.," 
1600; "Midsummer Night's Dream," 1600; "Merchant of 
Venice," 1600; "Henry IV., Pt. II.," 1600; "Much Ado about 
Nothing," 1600; "Titus Andronicus," 1600; "Merry Wives of 
Windsor," 1602; "Hamlet," 1603; "King Lear," 1608; "Son- 
nets," 1609; "Troilus and Cressida," 1609. His "Comedies, 
Histories, and Tragedies," ed. by J. Heminge and H. Condell^ 
were first pubUshed in 1623; his "Works," ed. by N. Rowe 
(7 vols.), 1709-10. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dic- 
tionary of English Authors, p. 253. 



PERSONAL. 



Good frend for Iesvs sake forbeare, 

To DIGG THE DVST ENCLOASED HEARE: 



Inscription on the Tablet over Shakespeare'' s 
Grave, April 25, 1616. 



2 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Base minded men al three of you, if by my miserie ye 
be not warned: for unto none of you (like me) sought 
those burres to cleave: those Puppits (I meane) that 
speake from our mouths, those Anticks garnisht in our 
colours. Is it not strange that I, to whom they al have 
beene beholding: is it not like that you, to whome they 
all have beene beholding, shall (were ye in that case that 
I am now) be both at once of them forsaken? Yes, 
trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified 
with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a 
Players hide, supposes he is as well able to bumbast out 
a blanke verse as the best of you: and being an absolute 
Johannes jac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shake- 
scene in a countrie. O that I might intreate your rare 
wits to be imployed in more profitable courses: & let 
these Apes imitate your past excellence, and never more 
acquaint them with your admired inventions. I know 
the best husband of you all will never prove an usurer 
and the kindest of them all wil never proove a kinde 
nurse: yet, whilst you may, seeke you better Maisters; 
for it is pittie men of such rare wits, should be subiect 
to the pleasures of such rude groomes. — Greene, 
Robert, 1592, A Groats-worth oj Wit. 



About three moneths since died M. Robert Greene, 
leaving many papers in sundry Booke sellers hands, 
among other his Groats-worth of wit, in which, a letter 
written to diuers playmakers, is offensiuely by one or 
two of them taken, and because on the dead they cannot 
be auenged, they wilfully forge in their conceites a lining 
author: and after tossing it to and fro, no remedy, but 
it must light on me. . . . With neither ^ of them that 

* Marlowe and Shakespeare. 



PERSONAL. 3 

take offence was I acquainted, and with one ^ of them T 
care not if I neuer be: the other," whom at that time I 
did not so much spare, as since I wish I had, for that as 
I haue moderated the heate of liuing writers, and might 
haue vsed my owne discretion (especially in such a case) 
the author being dead, that I did not, I am as sory, as 
if the originall fault had beene my fault, because myselfe 
haue scene his demeanor no lesse ciuill than he exclent 
in the qualitie he professes: besides, diuers of worship 
haue reported his vprightness of dealing, which argues 
his honesty, and his facetious grace in writting, that 
aprooues his art. — Chettle, Henry, 1592, Kind-Hart's 
Dreame, ed. Rimhault, Preface, p. iv. 



? Players, I love yee, and your Qualitie, 

As ye are Men, that pass time not abus'd: 

And some I love for painting, poesie. 

And say fell Fortune cannot be excus'd, 

That hath for better uses you refus'd: 

Wit, Courage, good shape, good partes, and all good, 

As long as al these goods are no worse us'd, 

And though the stage doth staine pure gentle hloud, 

Yet generous yee are in minde and moode. 

— Davies, John, of Hereford, 1603, Micro^ 
cosmos, ed. Grosart. 



Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh 

To learned Chaucer; and rare Beaumont, lie 

A little nearer Spenser; to make room 

For Shakespeare in your three-fold four-fold tomb: 

To lodge all four in one bed make a shift 

Until Doomsday; for hardly will a fift, 

^ Marlowe. ' Shakespeare. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Betwixt this day and that, by fate be slain, 
For whom your curtains may be drawn again. 
But if precedency in death doth bar 
A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre, 
Under this carved marble of thine own, 
Sleep, rare tragedian, Shakespeare, sleep alone: 
Thy unmolested peace, unshared cave, 
Possess as lord, not tenant, of thy grave; 
That unto us and others it may Ije 
Honour hereafter to be laid by thee. 

— Basse, William, i6i6?, Epitaph on Shak- 

speare. 

IVDICIO PYLIVM, GENIO SOCRATEM, ARTE MaRONEM, 

Terra tegit, popvlvs m^ret, Olympvs habet. 
Stay Passenger, why goest thov by so fast? 

READ IF THOV CANST, WHOM ENVIOVS DeATH HATH PLAST, 
WITH IN THIS MONVMENT ShAKSPEARE WITH WHOME 

qvick natvre dide: wthose name doth deck y tombe 
Far more then cost: sieh all, y He hath writt, 
Leaves living art, bvt page, to serve his witt. 

obiit ano do 1616 
^tatis, 53. die 23 ap. 

— Inscriptions upon the Tablet under Shakespere^s 

Bust, in the Chancel-north-wall of Strat- 
ford Church, 16 1 7- 1 622? 



This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; 
Wherein the Graver had a strife 
With Nature, to out-doo the life: 
O, could he but have drawne his Wit 
As well in Brasse, as he hath hit 



PERSONAL. 5 

His Face; the Print would then surpasse 
All, that was ever writ in Brasse. 
But, since he cannot, Reader, looke 
Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 
— J(onson), B(en), 1623, Facing Droeshout^s 

portrait of Shakespeare prefixed to the First 

Folio Edition of his Works. 



Melhfluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting quill 
Commanded mirth or passion was but Will. 
— Heywood, Thomas, 1635, The Hierarchy of 
the Blessed Angels. 



Shakspear had but two daughters, one whereof Mr. 
Hall, the physitian, married, and by her had on daughter 
married, to wit, the Lady Bernard of Abbingdon. I 
have heard that Mr. Shakspeare was a natural wit, with- 
out any art at all; hee frequented the plays all his younger 
time, but in his elder days lived at Stratford, and supplied 
the stage with two plays every year, and for itt had an 
allowance so large, that hee spent att the rate of 1,000/. 
a-year, as I have heard. Shakespeare, Drayton, and 
Ben Jonson, had a merie meeting, and itt seems drank 
too hard, for Shakespear died of a feavour there con- 
tracted. Remember to peruse Shakespeare's plays, and 
bee much versed in them, that I may not bee ignorant in 
that matter. Whether Dr. Heylin does well, in reckoning 
up the dramatick poets which have been famous in Eng- 
land, to omit Shakespeare. — Ward, Rev. John, 1648-78, 
Diary, ed. Severn, p. 183. 

William Shakespeare was born at Stratford on Avon 
in this County; ^ in whom three eminent Poets may seem 

^ Warwick. 



6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

in some sort to be compounded, i. Martial, in the war- 
like sound of his Surname (whence some may conjecture 
him of a Military extraction) Hastivibrans, or Shake- 
speare. 2. Ovid, the most naturall and witty of all 
Poets; and hence it was that Queen Elizabeth, coming 
into a Grammar-School, made this extemporary verse, 

"Persius a Crab-staffe, Bawdy Martial, Ovid a fine Wag." 

3. Plautus, who was an exact Comedian, yet never any 
Scholar, as our Shake-speare (if alive) would confess 
himself. Adde to all these, that though his Genius gen- 
erally was jocular, and inclining him to festivity, yet he 
could (when so disposed) be solemn and serious, as ap- 
pears by his Tragedies; so that Heraclitus himself (I 
mean if secret and unseen) might afford to smile at his 
Comedies, they were so merry; and Democritus scarce 
forbear to sigh at his Tragedies, they were so mournfull. 
He was an eminent instance of the truth of that Rule, 
"Poeta non fit, sed nascitur;" one is not made, but born 
a Poet. Indeed his Learning was very little, so that, as 
Cornish diamonds are not polished by any Lapidary, but 
are pointed and smoothed even as they are taken out of 
the Earth, so Nature itself was all the Art which was 
used upon him. Many were the Wet-combates betwixt 
him and Ben Jonson; which two I behold like a Spanish 
great Gallion and an English Man of War: Master Jonson 
(like the former) was built far higher in Learning; solid, 
but slow, in his performances. Shake-speare, with the 
English Man of War, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, 
could turn with all tides, tack about, and take advantage 
of all winds, by the quickness of his Wit and Invention. 
— Fuller, Thomas, 1662, The Worthies of England, ed. 
Nichols, vol. II, p. 414. 



PERSONAL. 7 

Mr. William Shakespear was borne at Stratford upon 
Avon in the county of Warwick. His father was a butcher, 
and I have been told heretofore by some of the neigh- 
bours, that when he was a boy he exercised his father's 
trade, but when he kill'd a calfe he would doe it in a 
high style, and make a speech. There was at that time 
another butcher's son in this towne that was held not at 
all inferior to him for a naturall witt, his acquaintance 
and coetanean, but dyed young. This William being 
inclined naturally to poetry and acting, came to London, 
I guesse, about i8; and was an actor at one of the play- 
houses, and did act exceedingly well (now B. Johnson 
was never a good actor, but an excellent instructor). He 
began early to make essayes at dramatique poetry, which 
at that time was very lowe; and his playes tooke well. 
He was a handsome, well-shap't man: very good company, 
and of a very readie and pleasant smooth witt. — Aubrey, 
John, 1669-96, Brie] Lives, ed. Clark, vol. 11, p. 225. 



He had, by a misfortune common enough to young 
fellows, fallen into ill company, and, amongst them, 
some that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, en- 
gaged him more than once in robbing a park that be- 
longed to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford. 
For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he 
thought, somewhat too severely; and, in order to revenge 
that ill usage, he made a ballad upon him. And though 
this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is 
said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the prose- 
cution against him to that degree, that he was obliged to 
leave his business and family in Warwickshire, for some 
time, and shelter himself in London. — Rowe, Nicholas, 
1709, Some Account of the Life of William Shakespeare. 



8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Thou, soft-flowing Avon, by thy silver stream, 

Of things more than Mortal sweet Shakespeare would dream, 

The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 

For hallow'd the turf is which pillow'd his head. 

Flow on, silver Avon, in song ever flow, 

Be the swans on thy waters whiter than snow. 

Ever full be thy stream, like his name may it spread, 

And the turf ever-hallow'd which pillow'd his head. 

— Garrick, David, 1769, Ode to Shakespeare. 



The tomb of Shakspeare is in the chancel. The place 
is solemn and sepulchral. Tall elms wave before the 
pointed windows, and the Avon, which runs at a short 
distance from the walls, keeps up a low perpetual mur- 
mur. A flat stone marks the spot where the bard is 
buried. There are four lines inscribed on it, said to 
have been written by himself, and which have in them 
something extremely awful. If they are indeed his own, 
they show that solicitude about the quiet of the grave, 
which seems natural to fine sensibilities and thoughtful 
minds. ... As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on 
my return, I paused to contemplate the distant church in 
which the poet lies buried, and could not but exult in the 
malediction, which has kept his ashes undisturbed in its 
quiet and hallowed vaults. What honor could his name 
have derived from being mingled in dusty companionship 
with the epitaphs and escutcheons and venal eulogiums 
of a titled multitude? What would a crowded corner in 
Westminster Abbey have been, compared with this rev- 
erend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful loneliness 
as his sole mausoleum! — Irving, Washington, 1819-48, 
Stratjord-On-Avon, Sketch Book. 



PERSONAL. 9 

It was not without some pleasurable imaginations that 
I saw Stratford-upon-Avon, the very hills and woods 
which the boy Shakespeare had looked, upon, the very 
church where his -dust reposes, nay, the very house where 
he was born; the threshold over which his staggering 
footsteps carried him in infancy; the very stones where 
the urchin played marbles and flogged tops. ... It is 
a small grim-looking house of bricks, bound, as was of 
old the fashion, with beams of oak intersecting the bricks 
which are built into it and fill up its interstices as the 
glass does in a window. The old tile roof is cast by age, 
and twisted into all varieties of curvature. Half the 
house has been modernised and made a butcher's shop. 
The street where it stands is a simple-looking, short, 
everyday village street, with houses mostly new, and con- 
sisting, like the Shakespeare house, of two low stories, or 
rather a story and a half. Stratford itself is a humble, 
pleasant-looking place, the residence as formerly of wool- 
combers and other quiet artisans, except where they have 
brought an ugly black canal into it, and polluted this 
classical borough by the presence of lighters or trackboats 
with famished horses, sooty drivers, and heaps of coke 
and coal. It seems considerably larger and less showy 
than Annan. Shakespeare, Breakspeare, and for aught I 
know sundry other spears, are still common names in 
Warwickshire. I was struck on my arrival at Birming- 
ham by a sign not far from Badams's, indicating the 
abode of William Shakespeare, boot and shoe maker, 
which boots and shoes the modern Shakespeare also pro- 
fessed his ability to mend "cheap and neatly." Homer, 
I afterwards discovered, had settled in Birmingham as a 
button maker. — Carlyle, Thomas, 1824, Letter to John 
Carlyle, Life, ed. Froude, vol. i, p. 191. 



10 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Of William Shakspeare, whom, through the mouths of 
those whom he has inspired to body forth the modifica- 
tions of his immense mind, we seem to know better than 
any human writer, it may be truly said that we scarcely 
know any thing. We see him, so far as we do see him, 
not in himself, but in a reflex image from the objectivity 
in which he was manifested: he is Falstaff and Mercutio 
and Malvolio and Jaques and Portia and Imogen and 
Lear and Othello; but to us he is scarcely a determined 
person, a substantial reaHty of past time, the man Shak- 
speare. The t.o greatest names in poetry are to us 
little more than rames. If we are not yet come to ques- 
tion his unity, as we do that of ''the blind old man of 
Scio's rocky isle," an improvement in critical acuteness 
doubtless reserved for a distant posterity, we as little 
feel the power of identifying the young man who came 
up from Stratford, was afterwards an indifferent player in 
a London theatre, and retired to his native place in 
middle life, with the author of Macbeth and Lear, as we 
can give a distinct historic personality to Homer. All 
that insatiable curiosity and unwearied diligence have 
hitherto detected about Shakspeare serves rather to dis- 
appoint and perplex us than to furnish the slightest 
illustration of his character. It is not the register of his 
baptism, or the draft of his will, or the orthography of 
his name, that we seek. No letter of his writing, no 
record of his conversation, no character of him drawn 
with any fulness by a contemporary, has been produced. 
— Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Litera- 
ture of Europe, vol. 11, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 34. 



I can vouch, for the following form, all taken from 
writings of nearly the poet's own age. . . . Schaksper, 



PERSONAL. 1 1 

Schakesper, Schakespeyr, Shagspere, Shaxper, Shaxpere, 
Shaxpeare, Shaxsper, Shaxspere, Shaxespere, Shakspere, 
Shakspear, Shakspeere, Shackspeare, Shackespeare, 
Shackespere, Shakspeyr, Shakesper, Shakespere, Shake- 
seper, Shakyspere, Shakespire, Shakespeire, Shakespear, 
Shakaspeare. They are all manifestly of the same type; 
and to these varieties others might be added. In two 
instances I have met with the name written Saxpere. . . . 
Shakespeare or Shakespear kept its ground as the re- 
ceived and proper orthography of the poet's name till the 
time of the two very eminent commentators Steevens and 
Malone. ... A contemporary critic of ififerior note in 
1785 introduced another variation. Irt' his hands the 
name became Shakspere, with the object, no doubt, of 
bringing back the orthography to the form in which the 
name is said to be found traced by the poet's own hand 
in his will and in other writings. — Hunter, Joseph, 1845, 
New Illustrations of the Life, Studies, and Writings of 
Shakespeare, vol. i, pp. 4, 5. 



As there is hardly a page in his writings which does 
not shed more light upon the biography of his mind, and 
bring us nearer to the individuality of the man, the anti- 
quaries in despair have been compelled to abandon him 
to the psychologists; and the moment the transition from 
external to internal facts is made, the most obscure of 
men passes into the most notorious. For this personality 
and soul we call Shakespeare, the recorded incidents of 
whose outward career were so few and trifling, lived a 
more various life — a life more crowded with ideas, pas- 
sions, volitions, and events — than any potentate the 
world has ever seen. Compared with his experience, the 
experience of Alexander or Hannibal, of Caesar or Napo- 



12 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

leon, was narrow and one-sided. He had projected him- 
self into almost all the varieties of human character, and, 
in imagination, had intensely realized and lived the life 
of each. From the throne of the monarch to the bench 
of the village alehouse, there were few positions in which 
he had not placed himself, and which he had not for a 
time identified with his own. — Whipple, Edwin P., 
1859-68, The Literature of the Age of Elizabeth, p. 33. 



In April, 1664, it was a hundred years since Shake- 
speare was born. England was occupied in cheering 
loudly Charles II., who had sold Dunkirk to France for 
two hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling, and in 
looking at something that was a skeleton and had been 
Cromwell, whitening under the north-east wind and rain 
on the gallows at Tyburn. In April, 1764, it was two 
hundred years since Shakespeare was born: England was 
contemplating the dawn of George III., a king destined 
to imbecility, who, at that epoch, in secret councils, and 
in somewhat unconstitutional asides with the Tory chiefs 
and the German Landgraves, was sketching out that 
policy of resistance to progress which was to strive, first 
against liberty in America, then against democracy in 
France, and which, only under the ministry of the first 
Pitt, had, in 1778, raised the debt of England to the sum 
of eighty millions sterling. In April, 1864, three hun- 
dred years since Shakespeare's birth, England raises a 
statue to Shakespeare. It is late, but it is well. — Hugo, 
Victor, 1864, William Shakespeare, tr. Baillot, p. 324. 



The moral humility of Shakspere is equal to his intel- 
lectual grandeur. Mental wealth without pride — such is 



PERSONAL. 1 3 

the example that he presents, both in theory and practice, 
to the most favoured son of genius. — Heraud, John 
A., 1865, Shakspere, His Inner Life as Intimated in His 
Works, p. 66. 

To Stratford-on-the-Avon — And we passed 
Thro' aisles and avenues of the princeliest trees 
That ever eyes beheld. None such with us 
Here in the bleaker North. And as we went 
Through Lucy's park, the red day dropt i' the west; 
A crimson glow, like blood in lovers' cheeks, 
Spread up the soft green sky and passed away; 
The mazy twilight came down on the lawns, 
And all those huge trees seemed to fall asleep; 
The deer went past like shadows. All the park 
Lay round us Uke a dream; and one fine thought 
Hung over us, and hallowed all. Yea, he, 
The pride of England, gHstened like a star, 
And beckoned us to Stratford. 

Leighton, Robert, 1869? Stratford-on-Avon. 



Of Shakspeare all came from within — I mean from 
his soul and his genius; external circumstances contributed 
but slightly to his development. He was intimately 
bound up with his age; that is, he knew by experience 
the manners of country, court, and town; he had visited 
the heights, depths, the middle regions of the condition 
of mankind; nothing more. For the rest his life was 
commonplace; the irregularities, troubles, passions, suc- 
cesses through which he passed, were, on the whole, such 
as we meet with everywhere else. — Taine, H. A., 1871, 
History of English Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. i, bk. ii, 
ch. iv, p. 297. 



14 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The manner of his death is uncertain. His will, still 
preserved in the Prerogative Office, is dated Marx:h 25, 
1616. The poet's handwriting, never very good, if we 
may judge from the few signatures that have been pre- 
served, and fifty years more antiquated than that of Sir 
Thomas Lucy, is feeble, shaky, and imperfect; very little 
like what might have been expected from one whose 
practice in writing must have been considerable, and who 
had in his time filled many reams of manuscript. His 
death did not occur until the 23rd of April following. It 
would seem, therefore, that his death was far from sud- 
den; and this alone would suffice to invalidate the tradi- 
tion, circulated forty-five years after, that the poet died 
of a fever contracted at a merry meeting with Drayton 
and Ben Jonson. His bust in Stratford Church, his por- 
trait by Droeshout prefixed to the first folio edition of his 
works, and the whole tenour of his life, contradict alto- 
gether the supposition that the poet was intemperate. If 
the opinion of competent judges may be taken, the bust 
was executed from a cast taken after death. It was cer- 
tainly coloured after life, and until it was painted over by 
Malone — a greater crime to Shakspeare's memory than 
Mr. Gaskill's destruction of the famous mulberry tree — 
it represented the poet exactly as he appeared to his con- 
temporaries. The eyes were a bright hazel, the hair and 
beard auburn; the doublet was scarlet, covered with a 
loose black sleeveless gown. As in Droeshout's portrait, 
the forehead is remarkably high and broad; in fact, the 
immense volume of the forehead is its most striking feat- 
ure. The predominant characteristic of the whole is that 
of a composed, self-possessed, resolute, and vigorous 
Englishman, of a higher intellectual stamp than usual, 
but not so far removed from the general national type as 



PERSONAL, 1 5 

we should have been inclined to expect from his writings. 
— Brewer, J. S., 1871-81, English Studies^ ed. Wace^ 
P- 235- 

As in his dramatic world he embraces the widest va- 
riety of human experience, so in his personal character he 
may be said to have combined in harmonious union the 
widest range of qualities, including some apparently the 
most opposed. He was a vigilant and acute man of busi- 
ness, of great executive ability, with a power of looking 
into affairs which included a thorough mastery of tedious 
legal details. But with all his worldly prudence and 
foresight he was at the same time the most generous and 
affectionate of men, honored and loved by all who knew 
him, with the irresistible charm that belongs to simplicity 
and directness of character combined with thoughtful 
sympathy and real kindness of heart. And while display- 
ing unrivalled skill, sagacity, and firmness in business 
transactions and practical affairs, he could promptly 
throw the whole burden aside, and in the exercise of his 
noble art pierce with an eagle's wing the very highest 
heaven of invention. That indeed was his native air, his 
true home, his permanent sphere, where he still rules 
with undisputed sway. He occupies a throne apart in 
the ideal and immortal kingdom of supreme creative art, 
poetical genius, and dramatic truth. — Baynes, T. Spen- 
cer, 1886, Encyclopcedia Britannica, Ninth ed., vol. xxi, 
P- 803. 

The folk who lived in Shakespeare's day 
And saw that gentle figure pass 
By London Bridge, his frequent way — 
They little knew what man he was. 



1 6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The pointed beard, the courteous mien, 
The equal port to high and low, 
All this they saw or might have seen — 
But not the light behind the brow! 
The doublet's modest gray or brown, 
The slender sword-hilt's plain device. 
What sign had these for prince or clown? 
Few turned, or none, to scan him twice. 
Yet 'twas the king of England's kings! 
The rest vdth all their pomps and trains 
Are mouldered, half-remembered things — 
'Tis he alone that lives and reigns! 
— Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 1890, Guilielmus 
Rex, 

His literary practices and aims were those of contem- 
porary men of letters, and the difference in the quality of 
his work and theirs was due not to conscious endeavour 
on his part to act otherwise than they, but to the magic 
and involuntary working of his genius. He seemed un- 
conscious of his marvellous superiority to his professional 
comrades. The references in his will to his fellow-actors, 
and the spirit in which (as they announce in the First 
Folio) they approached the task of collecting his works 
after his death, corroborate the description of him as a 
sympathetic friend of gentle, unassuming mien. The 
later traditions brought together by Aubrey depict him as 
"very good company, and of a very ready and pleasant 
smooth wit," and there is much in other early posthu- 
mous references to suggest a genial, if not a convivial, 
temperament, linked to a quiet turn for good-humoured 
satire. But Bohemian ideals and modes of life had no 
genuine attraction for Shakespeare. His extant work 
attests his ''copious" and continuous industry, and with 



PERSONAL. ly 

his literary power and sociability there clearly went the 
shrewd capacity of a man of business. Pope had just 
warrant for the surmise that he 

For gain not glory winged his roving flight, 
And grew immortal in his own despite. 

His literary attainments and successes were chiefly valued 
as serving the prosaic end of providing permanently for 
himself and his daughters. His highest ambition was to 
restore among his fellow-townsmen the family repute 
which his father's misfortunes had imperilled. Ideals so 
homely are reckoned rare among poets, but Chaucer and 
Sir Walter Scott, among writers of exalted genius, vie 
with Shakespeare in the sobriety of their personal aims 
and in the sanity of their mental attitude toward life's 
ordinary incidents. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, A Life of 
William Shakespeare, p. 278. 



That must have been a momentous day in Shake- 
speare's life on which, after giving up his house in Lon- 
don, he mounted his horse and rode back to Stratford- 
on-Avon to take up his abode there for good. . . . Life 
lay behind him now. His hopes had been fulfilled in 
many ways; he was famous, he had raised himself a 
degree in the social scale, above all he was rich, but for 
all that he was not happy. The great town, in which he 
had spent the better part of a lifetime, had not so suc- 
ceeded in attaching him to it that he would feel any pain 
in leaving it. There was neither man nor woman there 
so dear to him as to make society preferable to solitude, 
and the crowded life of London to the seclusion of the 
country and an existence passed in the midst of family 
and Nature. . . . The journey from London to Strat- 



1 8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

ford took three days. He would put up at the inns at 
which he was accustomed to stay on his yearly journey 
to and fro, and where he was always greeted as a wel- 
come guest, and given a bed with snow-white sheets, for 
which travellers on foot were charged an extra penny, 
but which he, as rider, enjoyed gratis. The hostess 
at Oxford, pretty Mistress Davenant, would give him 
a specially cordial greeting. The two were old and 
good friends. Little William, born in 1606, and now 
seven years old, possessed a certain, perhaps accidental, 
resemblance of feature to the guest. ... It was the 
quietude of Stratford which attracted him, its leisure, 
the emptiness of its dirty streets, its remoteness from the 
busy world. What he really longed for was Nature, the 
Nature with which he had lived in such intimate com- 
panionship in his early youth, which he had missed so 
terribly while writing ''As You Like It" and its fellow- 
plays, and from which he had so long been separated. 
Far more than human beings was it the gardens which he 
had bought and planted there which drew him back to 
his native town — the gardens and trees on which he 
looked from his windows at New Place. — Brandes, 
George, 1898, William Shakespeare^ A Critical Study ^ 
vol. II, pp. 389, 390, 392. 



The Birthplace, as it is called, is a cottage of plaster 
and timber, two stories in height, with dormer windows, 
and a pleasant garden in the rear — all that remains of 
a considerable piece of land. It stands upon the street, 
and the visitor passes at once, through a little porch, into 
a low room, ceiled with black oak, paved with flags, and 
with a fireplace so wide that one sees at a glance what 
the chimney-corner once meant of comfort and cheer. 



PERSONAL. 19 

On those seats, looking into the glowing fire, the imagina- 
tion of a boy could hardly fail to kindle, A dark and 
narrow stair leads to the little bare room on the floor 
above in which Shakespeare was probably born. The 
place seems fitted, by its very simplicity, to serve as the 
starting-point for so great a career. There is a small 
fireplace; the low ceiling is within reach of the hand; on 
the narrow panes of glass which fill the casement names 
and initials are traced in irregular profusion. This room 
has been a place eagerly sought by literary pilgrims since 
the beginning of the century. The low ceiling and the 
walls were covered, in the early part of the century, with 
innumerable autographs. In 1820 the occupant, a woman 
who attached great importance to the privilege of show- 
ing the house to visitors, was compelled to give up that 
privilege, and, by way of revenge, removed the furniture 
and whitewashed the walls of the house. A part of the 
wall of the upper room escaped the sacrilegious hand of 
the jealous custodian, and names running back to the 
third decade of the last century are still to be found 
there. Other and perhaps more famous names have 
taken the places of those which were erased, and the 
walls are now a mass of hieroglyphs. Scott, Byron, 
Rogers, Tennyson, Thackeray, Dickens, have left this 
record of their interest in the room. No new names are 
now written on these blackened walls; the names of visit- 
ors are kept in a recordbook on the lower floor. — Mabie, 
Hamilton Wright, 1900, William Shakespeare, Poet, 
Dramatist, and Man, ^.35. 



20 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

VENUS AND ADONIS 

1585-7-1593 
Venvs I AND ADONIS | YiUa miretur vulgus: mihi flauus 
Apollo I Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua. \ London 
I Imprinted by Richard Field, and are to be sold at | 
the signe of the white Greyhound in | Paules Church- 
yard. I 1593. — Title Page of First Edition, 1593. 

TO THE right HONOURABLE 

HENRY WRIOTHESLY 
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield. 

Right Honourable, 
I know not how I shall ofifend in dedicating my unpol- 
ished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will cen- 
sure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak 
a burden: only, if your honour seem but pleased, I ac- 
count myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage 
of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some 
graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove 
deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, 
and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me 
still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable 
survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which 
I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's 
hopeful expectation. 

Your honour's in all duty, 
— Shakespeare, William, 1593, Dedication. 



This makes my mourning Muse resolve in teares, 
This theames my heavie penne to plaine in prose; 
Christ's thorne is sharpe, no head His garland weares; 
Stil finest wits are 'stilling Venus' rose, 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 21 

In Paynim toyes the sweetest vaines are spent; 
To Christian workes few have their talents lent. 
— Southwell, Robert, 1594? Saint Peters 
Complaint, with other Poemes, The Authour 
to the Reader, ed. Grosart, p. xii. 



Let this duncified worlde esteeme of Spencer and 
Chaucer, I'le worshipp sweet Mr. Shakspeare, and to 
honoure him will lay his "Venus and Adonis" under my 
pillowe, as wee reade of one (I doe not well remember 
his name, but I am sure he was a kinge) slept with Homer 
under his bed's heade. Well, I'le bestowe a Frenche 
crowne in the faire writings of them out, and then I'le 
instructe thee about the delivery of them. — Anon, The 
Return from Pernassus, 1606, pt. i, act. iv, sc. i, p. 63. 



But stay my Muse in thine owne confines keepe, 

& wage not warre with so deere lov'd a neighbor. 
But having sung thy day song, rest and sleepe 

preserve thy small fame and his greater favor: 
His Song was worthie merrit (Shakspeare hee) 

sung the faire blossome, thou the withered tree 
Laurell is due to him, his art and wit 

hath purchast it, Cypres thy brow will fit. 

— Barkstead, William, 1607, Mirrha, the 
Mother of Adonis; or Lustes Prodegies, 
ed. Grosart, 1876, p. 65. 



Another (ah, Lord helpe) mee vilifies 
With Art of Love, and how to subtilize, 
Making lewd Venus, with eternall Lines, 
To tye Adonis to her loves designes: 
Fine wit is shew'n therein: but finer twere 
If not attired in such bawdy Geare. 



22 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

But be it as it will: the coyest Dames, 
In private read it for their Closset-games : 
For, sooth to say, the Unes so draw them on, 
To the venerian speculation, 
That will they, nill they (if of flesh they bee) 
They will thinke of it, sith loose Thought is free. 
— Davies, John, of Hereford, i6ii? The 

Scourge of Folly and other Poems, Works, 

ed. Grosart, p. 75. 



In "Venus and Adonis," the poet, absolutely carried 
away by the voluptuous power of his subject, seems en- 
tirely to have lost sight of its mythological wealth. Venus, 
stripped of the prestige of divinity, is nothing but a beau- 
tiful courtesan, endeavouring unsuccessfully, by all the 
prayers, tears, and artifices of love, to stimulate the 
languid desires of a cold and disdainful youth. Hence 
arises a monotony which is not redeemed by the simple 
gracefulness and poetic merit of many passages, and 
which is augmented by the division of the poem into 
stanzas of six lines, the last two of which almost invari- 
ably present a jeu d'esprit. But a metre singularly free 
from irregularities, a cadence full of harmony, and a 
versification which had never before been equaled in 
England. — Guizot, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 
1821-52, Shakspeare and His Times, p. 63. 



It is difficult to say to what depths of bad taste the 
writer of certain passages in ''Venus and Adonis" could 
not fall before his genius or his judgment was full-grown. 
— Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, p. 41. 



VENUS AND ADONIS, 23 

"Venus and Adonis" brims over with poetry — erotic, 
lyrical, elegiac, and. descriptive, — but of dramatic poetry 
there is none. . . . Shakespeare has been reproached 
with having debased and degraded the mythological 
riches of his subject in not presenting Venus as a goddess 
instead of as a mere beautiful amorous wanton; but the 
reproach is singularly wanting in perception, for it is pre- 
cisely this that gives life to this picture. While rejecting 
the cold mythological verbiage of the Renaissance, he 
has kept the material and voluptuous spirit of its pagan- 
ism, and produced this admirable picture of a woman, 
which has justly been compared to a painting by Titian 
for richness and depth of colour. — Staffer, Paul, 1880, 
Shakespeare and Classical Antiquity, tr. Carey, pp. 133, 135. 



The Stratford boy hardly puts in his appearance in 
London before he presents Lord Southampton, as the 
''first heir of his invention," with — if not the most 
mature — at least the most carefully polished production 
that William Shakespeare's name was ever signed to; 
and, moreover, as polished, elegant, and sumptuous a 
piece of rhetoric as English letters has ever produced 
down to this very day. — Morgan, Appleton, 1881, The 
Shakespearian Myth, p. 41. 

I think no author of his time could have treated the 
voluptuous story of ''Venus and Adonis" as Shakespeare 
treated it. All through the hot air of its passion a fresh, 
pure breeze of something higher trembles, and I am 
astonished that more has not been made of this point by 
critics. — Dall, Caroline Healey, 1886, What We 
Really Know about Shakespeare, p. 98. 



24 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

There were already many tuneful singers in 1593; but 
none of them except the master himself could raise such 
a pageant of voluptuous imagery, or accompany it with 
such a symphony of harmonious sound, as we find in 
''Venus and Adonis." No one except Spenser and Sack- 
ville evoked the rhyme-clangour of the stanza with such 
delicate art; no one except these two had portrayed such 
vivid pictures as the arrest of Adonis by Venus, the cap- 
tivity of Mars, the portrait of herself by the goddess, the 
escape of the courser, the description of the boar and of 
the hare-hunt, the solitary night, the discovery of the 
foolish youth who has fled from Love's arms to those of 
Death. But while none, save these, of men living had 
done, or could have done, such work, there was much 
here which — whether either could have done it or not 
— neither had done. — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A 
Short History of English Literature, p. 317. 



His careful, well-compacted, and thoroughly constructed 
poem. — Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1900, William 
Shakespeare, Poet, Dramatist, and Man, p. 190. 



In "Venus and Adonis" glows the whole fresh sensu- 
ousness of the Renaissance and of Shakespeare's youth. 
It is an entirely erotic poem, and contemporaries aver 
that it lay on the table of every light woman in London. 
The conduct of the poem presents a series of opportuni- 
ties and pretexts for voluptuous situations and descrip- 
tions. The ineffectual blandishments lavished by Venus 
on the chaste and frigid youth, who, in his sheer boyish- 
ness, is as irresponsive as a bashful woman — her kisses, 
caresses, and embraces, are depicted in detail. It is as 
though a Titian or Rubens had painted a model in a 



THE RAPE OF LUCRE CE. 2$ 

whole series of tender situations, now in one attitude, now 
in another. Then comes the suggestive scene in which 
Adonis's horse breaks away in order to meet the challenge 
of a mare which happens to wander by, together with the 
goddess's comments thereupon. Then new advances and 
solicitations, almost inadmissibly daring, according to 
the taste of our day. An element of feeling is introduced 
in the portrayal of Venus's anguish when Adonis expresses 
his intention of hunting the boar. But it is to sheer 
description that the poet chiefly devotes himself — de- 
scription of the charging boar, description of the fair 
young body bathed in blood, and so forth. There is a 
fire and rapture of colour in it all, as in a picture by 
some Italian master of a hundred years before. Quite un- 
mistakable is the insinuating, luscious, almost saccharine 
quality of the writing, which accounts for the fact that, 
when his immediate contemporaries speak of Shake- 
speare's diction, honey is the similitude that first suggests 
itself to them. John Weever, in 1595, calls him "honey- 
tongued," and in 1598 Francis Meres uses the same 
term, with the addition of ''mellifluous." — Brandes, 
George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, 
vol. I, p. 68. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE 

1594 
LVCRECE I London. | Printed by Richard Field, for 
Tohn Harrison, and are | to be sold at the signe of the 
white Greyhound | in Paules Churh-yard. | 1594. — Title 
Page of First Edition, 1594. 



26 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 

HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. 

The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; 
whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a super- 
fluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable 
disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes 
it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; 
what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, de- 
voted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would 
show greater; mean time, as it is, it is bound to your 
lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with 
all happiness. 

Your Lordship's in all duty, 
~ Shakespeare, William, 1594, Dedication, 



Lucrece, of whom proud Rome hath boasted long, 

Lately reviv'd to live another age, 

And here arriv'd to tell of Tarquin's wrong 

Her chaste denial, and the Tyrant's rage, 

Acting her passions on our stately stage; 

She is remembered, all forgetting me, 

Yet I as faire and chaste as e'er was she. 

— Drayton, Michael, 1594, Matilda, s. vi. 



And Shakespeare, thou, whose hony flowing vaine, 
(Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth containe; 
Whose Venus, and whose Lucrece (sweet, and chast) 
Thy name in Fame's immortall Booke have plac't. 
Live ever you, at least in Fame live ever: 
Well may the Body die, but Fame die never. 
— Barnfield, Richard, 1605, Remembrance of 
some English Poets. 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 2/ 

Who loves chaste hfe, there Lucrece for a teacher: 
Who Us't read lust there's Venus and Adonis. 

— Freeman, Thomas, 1614, Runne and a Great 
Cast. 

The two poems of Venus and Adonis and of Tarquin 
and Lucrece appear to us like a couple of ice-houses. 
They are about as hard, as glittering, and as cold. The 
author seems all the time to be thinking of his verses, 
and not of his subject — not of what his characters would 
feel, but of what he shall say; and as it must happen in 
all such cases, he always puts into their mouths those 
things which they would be the last to think of, and which 
it shows the greatest ingenuity in him to find out. The 
whole is laboured, uphill work. The poet is perpetually 
singling out the difficulties of the art to make an exhibi- 
tion of his strength and skill in wrestling with them. He 
is making perpetual trials of them as if his mastery over 
them were doubted. ... A beautiful thought is sure to 
be lost in an endless commentary upon it. . . . There 
is, besides, a strange attempt to substitute the language 
of painting for that of poetry, to make us see their feel- 
ings in the faces of the persons. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters of Shakes pear's Plays, p. 244. 



The action is retarded by all manner of pretty ingenu- 
ities. Lucrece in her agony delivers tirades on Night, on 
Time, on Opportunity, as if they were theses for a degree 
in some academy of wit. Still the effect on a reader in 
the right mood is not that of frigid cleverness; the faults 
are faults of youth; the poet's pleasurable excitement can 
be perceived; nay at times we feel the energetic fervour 
of his heart. Now and again the poetry surprises, not by 



28 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

singularity, but as Keats has said that poetry ought to 
surprise, by a fine excess; sometimes a line is all gold 
seven times refined; and there is throughout such evidence 
of a rich, abounding nature in the writer that we are 
happy with him even while we recognize the idle errors 
of his nonage. — Dowden, Edward, 1880, English Poets, 
ed. Ward, vol. i, p. 437. 



The strength of ''Lucrece" lies in its graphic and gor- 
geous descriptions, and in its sometimes microscopic psy- 
chological analysis. For the rest, its pathos consists of 
elaborate and far-fetched rhetoric. The lament of the 
heroine after the crime has been committed is pure dec- 
lamation, extremely eloquent no doubt, but copious and 
artificial as an oration of Cicero's, rich in apostrophes 
and antitheses. The sorrow of ''Collatine and his con- 
sorted lords" is portrayed in laboured and quibbling 
speeches. Shakespeare's knowledge and mastery are 
most clearly seen in the reflections scattered through the 
narrative. — Brandes, George, 1898, William Shake- 
speare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 71. 



If the "Venus" be a pageant of gesture, the "Lucrece" 
is a drama of emotion. You have the same wealth of 
imagery, but the images are no longer sunlit and sharply 
defined. They seem, rather, created by the reflex action 
of a sleepless brain — as it were fantastic symbols shaped 
from the lying report of tired eyes staring into darkness; 
and they are no longer used to decorate the outward 
play of natural desire and reluctance, but to project the 
shadows of abnormal passion and acute mental distress. — 
Wyndham, George, 1898, ed. The Poems of Shakespeare, 
Introduction, p. xcv. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 29 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 

Of "A Lover's Complaint," marked as it is throughout 
with every possible sign suggestive of a far later date and 
a far different inspiration, I have only space or need to 
remark that it contains two of the most exquisitely Shake- 
spearean verses ever vouchsafed to us by Shakespeare, 
and two of the most execrably euphuistic or dysphuistic 
lines ever inflicted on us by man. — Swinburne, Alger- 
non Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 61. 



The framework of *'A Lover's Complaint," its pictur- 
esqueness, versification, diction, repression, tenderness, and 
beauty, give to it a thoroughly Spenserian character, and 
convey the impression that we have here an early exercise in 
the Spenserian style; as such the poem links itself ultimately 
to the exquisite "Complaints" of Spenser's great master, 
Geoffrey Chaucer, with their ruthful burden: — ^^ Pile is 
dede and buried in gentil herte.'^ — Gollancz, Israel, 
1896, ed. Temple Shakespeare, Preface to Lucrece, p. vii. 



If, as is possible, it be by Shakespeare, it must have 
been written in very early days. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, 
A Life of William Shakespeare, p. gi. 



SONNETS 

1592-1602-1609 

SHAKE-SPEARES | Sonnets. | Neuer before Imprinted. 
I AT LONDON | By G Eld for T. T. and are | to be solde 
by William Aspley. \ 1609. — Title Page of First 
Separate Edition, 1609. 



30 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



TO . THE . ONLIE . BEGETTER . OF . 

THESE . INSVING . SONNETS . 

MR. W. H. ALL . HAPPINESSE . 

AND . THAT . ETERNITIE . 

PROMISED . 

BY . 

OVR . EVER-LIVING . POET . 

WISHETH . 

THE . WELL-WISHING . 

ADVENTVRER . IN . 

SETTING . 

FORTH . X. T. 

— Dedication of First Edition, 1609. 



Fugitive pieces which the poetic and sprightly grace of 
some lines would not have rescued from oblivion but for 
the curiosity which attaches to the slightest traces of a 
celebrated man. — Guizot, Francois Pierre Guil- 
laume, 1821-52, Shakspeare and His Times, p. 65. 

If any should be curious to discover 

Whether to you I am a friend or lover, 

Let them read Shakspeare 's sonnets, taking thence 

A whetstone for their dull intelligence 

That tears and will not cut, or let them guess 

How Diotima, the wise prophetess. 

Instructed the instructor, and why he 

Rebuked the infant spirit of melody 

On Agathon's sweet Hps, which as he spoke 

Was as the lovely star when morn has broke 

The roof of darkness, in the golden dawn, 

Half-hidden and yet beautiful. 

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1822? Studies for 
Epipsychidion, and Cancelled Passages, 
Poetical Works, ed. Forman, vol. 11, p. 392. 



SONNETS, 31 

Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned 
Mindless of its just honours; with this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart. 

— Wordsworth, William, 1827, Sonnet. 



They contain such a quantity of profound thought as 
must astonish every reflecting reader; they are adorned 
by splendid and delicate imagery; they are sublime, 
pathetic, tender, or sweetly playful; while they delight the 
ear by their fluency and their varied harmonies of rhythm. 

— Dyce, Alexander, 1833, Specimens of English Son- 
nets, p. 213. 

As a whole, however, these sonnets are no more to 
our poet's fame, than a snowball on the top of Olympus. 

— Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shakspeare's Plays, 
Moxon ed., Life. 

They rise, indeed, in estimation, as we attentively read 
and reflect upon them; for I do not think that at first 
they give us much pleasure. No one ever entered more 
fully than Shakspeare into the character of this species 
of poetry, which admits of no expletive imagery, no 
merely ornamental line. ... It is impossible not to 
wish that Shakspeare had never written them. There is 
a weakness and folly in all excessive and misplaced af- 
fection, which is not redeemed by the touches of nobler 
sentiments that abound in this long series of sonnets. 
But there are also faults of a merely critical nature. The 
obscurity is often such as only conjecture can penetrate; 
the strain of tenderness and adoration would be too 
monotonous, were it less unpleasing; and so many frigid 
conceits are scattered around, that we might almost 



32 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

fancy the poet to have written without genuine emotion, 
did not such a host of other passages attest the contrary. 
— Hall AM, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Litera- 
ture of Europe, vol. iii, pt. iii, ch. v, par. 48, 50. 



There is nothing more remarkable or fascinating in 
English poetry. . . . We read them again and again, 
and find each time some new proof of his almost super- 
human insight into human nature; of his unrivalled mas- 
tery over all the tones of love. We cannot bring our- 
selves to wish that "Shakspeare had never written them," 
or that the world should have wanted perhaps the most 
powerful and certainly the most singular, utterances of 
passion which Poetry has yet supplied. — Palgrave, 
Francis Turner, 1865, ed. Songs and Sonnets by William 
Shakespeare, p. 243. 

We may look upon the Sonnets as a piece of music, or 
as Shakspere's pathetic sonata, each melody introduced, 
dropped again, brought in again with variations, but one 
full strain of undying love and friendship through the 
whole. ... In the Sonnets we have the gentle Will, the 
melancholy mild-eyed man, of the Droeshout portrait. 
Shakspere's tender, sensitive, refined nature is seen clearly 
here, but through a glass darkly in the plays. . . . Still 
I think it is plain that Shakspere had become involved in 
an intrigue with a married woman, who threw him over 
for his friend Will. She was dark, had beautiful eyes, 
and was a fine musician, but false. . . . Sad as it may 
be to us to be forced to conclude that shame has to be 
cast on the noble name we reverence, yet let us remember 
that it is but for a temporary stain on his career, and 
that through the knowledge of the human heart he gained 



SONNETS. 33 

by his own trials we get the intensest and most valuable 
records of his genius. It is only those who have been 
through the mill themselves, that know how hard God's 
stones and the devil's grind. — Furnivall, Frederick 
James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



With Wordsworth, Sir Henry Taylor, and Mr. Swin- 
burne, with Franyois-Victor Hugo, with Kreyssig, Ulrici, 
Gervinus, and Hermann Isaac, with Boaden, Armitage 
Brown, and Hallam, with Furnivall, Spalding, Rossetti, 
and Palgrave, I believe that Shakspere's Sonnets express 
his own feelings in his own person. To whom they were 
addressed is unknown. We shall never discover the 
name of that woman who for a season could sound, as 
no one else, the instrument in Shakspere's heart from 
the lowest note to the top of the compass. To the eyes of 
no diver among the wrecks of time will that curious tal- 
isman gleam. — Dowden, Edward, 1881, ed. The Son- 
nets of William Shakspere. 



For our own part, we find it as difficult to believe that 
some of the Sonnets are autobiographical as that others 
are not; and all that has been written to prove that 1-126 
are all addressed to the same person fails to convince us. 
It is clear enough that certain sets (like 1-17, for instance) 
form a regular series, but that all the poems are arranged 
in the order in which Shakespeare meant to have them is 
not so clear. There is no evidence that the edition of 
1609 was supervised or even authorized by him. The 
enigmatical dedication is not his, but the publisher's; 
and the arrangement of the poems is probably that of 
the person who procured them for publication, whoever 
he may have been. The order seems to us more like 



34 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

that of a collector — one who knew something of their 
history, and was interested in getting them together for 
publication — than that of the author. Possibly this col- 
lector had his own little theory as to the interconnection 
of some of them, like certain of the modern editors, no 
one of whom seems on the whole to have been any more 
successful in classifying them. We fear that both their 
order and the means by which the publisher got posses- 
sion of them must continue to be among the insoluble 
problems of literature. — Rolfe, William J., 1883-90, 
ed. Shakespeare's Sonnets, Introduction, p. 11. 



These magnificent poems — magnificent notwithstand- 
ing many minor flaws — must always hold their high 
place, not only as the personal record of the greatest of 
our poets, but for the sake of their own consummate 
beauty and intellectual force. — Sharp, William, 1886, 
ed. Sonnets of This Century, p. xlvii. 



We have all tried to wring the heart out of that mys- 
tery. We have all felt the accent of acute passion alter- 
nating with the accent of what looks like artificial compli- 
ment — the inequality of style, the inequality of emotion, 
the inequality of artistic handling — in those unparalleled 
outpourings of a mighty poet's soul. We do not doubt 
their genuineness. We trace the outlines of a story in 
them, which it is not difficult to decipher, although the 
import may be painful. So far we are agreed. But 
when it comes to deciding whether Shakespeare intended 
a merely dramatic series of psychological lyrics, or whether 
he committed his own experience from day to day to paper 
in the sonnets, or whether he wrote them for a friend — 
who Mr. W. H. was, and who the dark lady was — then 



SONNETS. 35 

at once we dilBfer. As it seems to me, this is the point at 
which sound criticism diverges from criticism over- 
weighted with erudition or with subjective prepossession. 
— Symonds, John Addington, 1890, Essays Speculative 
and Suggestive, vol. i, p. 117. 



In literary value Shakespeare's sonnets are notably 
unequal. Many reach levels of lyric melody and medita- 
tive energy that are hardly to be matched elsewhere in 
poetry. The best examples are charged with the mel- 
lowed sweetness of rhythm and metre, the depth of thought 
and feeling, the vividness of imagery and the stimulating 
fervour of expression which are the finest proofs of poetic 
power. On the other hand, many sink almost into 
inanity beneath the burden of quibbles and conceits. In 
both their excellences and their defects Shakespeare's 
sonnets betray near kinship to his early dramatic work, 
in which passages of the highest poetic temper at times 
alternate with unimpressive displays of verbal jugglery. 
— Lee, Sidney, 1898, A Life of William Shakespeare, 
P- 87. 

What is important is that Shakespeare has here caught 
up the sum of love and uttered it as no poet has before 
or since, and that in so doing he carried poetry — that is 
to say, the passionate expression in verse of the sensual 
and intellectual facts of life — to a pitch which it had 
never previously reached in English, and which it has 
never outstepped since. The coast-line of humanity must 
be wholly altered, the sea must change its nature, the 
moon must draw it in different ways, before that tide- 
mark is passed. — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short 
History of English Literature, p. 319. 



36 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Here, and here alone, we see Shakespeare himself, as 
distinct from his poetical creations, loving, admiring, 
longing, yearning, adoring, disappointed, humiliated, tor- 
tured. Here alone does he enter the confessional. Here 
more than anywhere else can we, who at a distance of 
three centuries do homage to the poet's art, feel ourselves 
in intimate communion, not only with the poet, but with 
the man. — Brandes, George, 1898, William Shake- 
speare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 356. 



Every person of culture who reads the Sonnets nowa- 
days is pleased to find in most of them fertility of thought, 
beauty of imagery, and mellifluous versification, but hav- 
ing read them he is at a loss to know precisely what they 
are all about. Are they, he asks himself, a continuous 
poem, or so many isolated poems? Are they autobio- 
graphical or dramatic; or are they poems at all in the 
proper sense, and not enigmas, concealing under a poetic 
garb some deep and occult philosophy? Each of these 
questions has been answered affirmatively and negatively 
with equal zeal and ingenuity. In the complete editions 
of Shakespeare's "Works" the editors have tried their 
hands at solving the several difficulties, but not with much 
success; and bulky volumes have been prepared to prove 
various theories as to their design and significance, which 
carry no conviction with them beyond the immediate 
circle of authorship. These differences of opinion are 
largely due to a certain obscurity in the Sonnets them- 
selves. . . . They allude to situations that have now 
passed entirely out of memory; they indulge in conceits 
and plays upon words which rather perplex than help 
the understanding of them; and often they admit locu- 
tions, which, if not wholly obsolete, are yet very different 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 37 

from our accepted forms. Indeed, in reading them, it 
sometimes happens that we come upon passages which at 
first seem clear and intelligible, but which on closer 
scrutiny, like the face of a dumb man, get indefinite and 
vague. — Godwin, Parke, 1900, A New Study of the 
Sonnets of Shakespeare, pp. 4, 6. 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM 

THE I PASSIONATE | Pilgrime | By W. Shake- 
speare. I AT LONDON | Printed for W. laggard, and 
are | to be sold by W. Leake, at the Grey- | hound in 
Paules Church-yard. | 1599. — Title Page of First 
Edition, 1599. 

Here likewise, I must necessarily insert a manifest in- 
jury done me in that worke, by taking the two Epistles of 
Paris to Helen, and Helen to Paris, and printing them in 
a lesse volume, under the name of another, which may put 
the world in opinion I might steale them from him; and 
hee to doe himselfe right, hath since published them in 
his owne name: but as I must acknowledge my lines not 
worthy his patronage, under whom he hath publisht them, 
so the Author I know much offended with M. Jaggard 
that (altogether unknowne to him) presumed to make so 
bold with his name. — Heywood, Thomas, 1612, An 
Apology for Actors, Epistle. 



In ^'the Passionate Pilgrim," some critics find difficulty 
in tracing the hand of the poet; and we accidentally 
discover by the complaint of Heywood, a congenial dra- 
matist, that there were two of his poems in one edition 
of this collection; and we know that there were also 



38 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

other poems by Marlowe and Barnefield and others. 
Heywood tells us that Shakespeare was greatly offended 
at this licentious use of his name; but he must have been 
imperturbably careless on such matters, otherwise he 
would not have suffered three editions of this spurious 
miscellany. ■ — Disraeli, Isaac, 1841, Shakespeare, Amen- 
ities of Literature. 

The worst active or positive blemish — and a most 
fearful and shameful blemish it is — to be found in this 
generally graceful and careful collection ^ will unluckily 
be found and cannot be overlooked on the fourth page; 
sixth on the list of selected poems is a copy of verse at- 
tributed to Shakespeare — of all men on earth! — by the 
infamous pirate, liar, and thief who published a worthless 
little volume of stolen and mutilated poetry patched up 
and padded out with dirty and dreary doggrel, under the 
senseless and preposterous title of *'The Passionate Pil- 
grim." It is here more plausibly ascribed tho' on what 
authority I know not, to some scribbler — unknown to 
Shakespeare's contemporaries — who would seem to have 
signed himself Shakspere, and to have imagined that the 
gabble of geese or the chatter of apes was English and 
was verse. -^ Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1891, 
Social Verse, The Forum, vol. 12, p. 173. 



It contains twenty-one numbers, besides that lofty dirge, 
so unapproachably solemn, *'The Phoenix and the Tur- 
tle." Of these, five are undoubtedly by Shakespeare. 
A sixth ("Crabbed age and youth"), if not by Shake- 
speare, is one of the loveliest lyrics in the language, and 
I for my part could give it to no other man. Note also 

* " Lyra Elegantiarum," edited by Frederick Locker-Lampson. 



THE PHCENIX AND THE TURTLE, 39 

that but for Jaggard's enterprise this jewel had been 
irrevocably lost to us, since it is known only through 
''The Passionate Pilgrim." Marlowe's "Live with me 
and be my love" and Barnefield's ''As it fell upon a 
Day," make numbers seven and eight. And I imagine 
that even Mr. Swinburne cannot afford to scorn "Sweet 
rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded" — which 
again only occurs in "The Passionate Pilgrim." These 
nine numbers, with "The Phoenix and the Turtle," make 
up more than half the book. Among the rest we have 
the pretty and respectable lyrics; "If music and sweet 
poetry agree;" "Good night, good rest;" "Lord, how 
mine eyes throw gazes to the east;" "When as thine eye 
hath chose the dame," and the gay little song, "It was a 
Lording's daughter." There remain the "Venus and 
Adonis" sonnets and "My flocks feed not." Mr. Swin- 
burne may call these "dirty and dreary doggrel," an he 
list, with no more risk than of being held a somewhat 
overanxious moralist. But to call the whole book worth- 
less is mere abuse of words. It is true, nevertheless, that 
one of the only two copies existing of the first edition was 
bought for three halfpence. — Quiller-Couch, A. T., 
1895, Adventures in Criticism^ p. 39. 



THE PHGENIX AND THE TURTLE 

1601 

To unassisted readers, it would appear to be a lament 
on the death of a poet, and of his poetic mistress. But 
the poem is so quaint, and charming in diction, tone, and 
allusions, and in its perfect metre and harmony, that I 
would gladly have the fullest illustration yet attainable. 



40 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

I consider this piece a good example of the rule, that 
there is a poetry for bards proper, as well as a poetry for 
the world of readers. This poem, if published for the 
first time, and without a known author's name, would find 
no general reception. Only the poets would save it. — 
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 1875, Parnassus, Preface, p. vi. 



Priceless and unique. — Geosart, Alexander B., 
1878, ed. Chester's Love's Martyr, Introduction. 



The contribution of the great dramatist is a remarkable 
poem in which he makes a notice of the obsequies of the 
phoenix and turtle-dove subservient to the delineation of 
spiritual union. It is generally thought that, in his own 
work, Chester meditated a personal allegory, but, if that 
be the case, there is nothing to indicate that Shakespeare 
participated in the design, nor even that he had endured 
the punishment of reading "Love's Martyr." — Halli- 
well-Phillipps, J. O., 1881-86, Outlines of the Life of 
Shakespeare, vol. i, p. 173. 



For ourself we agree with Malone, Emerson, Halliwell- 
Phillipps, and others, that the poem is clearly Shake- 
speare's. Aside from the internal evidence, the circum- 
stances of its publication seem to us enough to settle the 
question. . . . The other poems he prints are all, we 
believe, acknowledged to be from the authors to whom 
he ascribes them. Why should we hesitate to accept 
"The Phoenix and the Turtle" as Shakespeare's, when 
Chester marks it as his, and when it is in no respect un- 
worthy of him? — RoLFE, William J., 1883, Shake- 
speariana, Literary World, vol. 14, p. 96. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 4 1 

The genuineness of the contribution with Shakespeare's 
name subscribed is now generally admitted, though no 
successful attempt has yet been made to explain the 
allegory, nor is any light thrown upon it by the other 
poems in the collection; among the contributors, in addi- 
tion to Shakespeare, were Jonson, Chapman, and Mars- 
ton. In all probability the occasion and subject of the 
whole collection, which has so long baffled patient re- 
search, will some day be discovered, and Shakespeare's 
meaning will be clear. It would seem from the title- 
page that the private family history of Sir John Salisbury 
ought to yield the necessary clue to the events. — Gol- 
LANCZ, Israel, 1896, ed. Temple Shakespeare, Preface to 
Lucrece, p. viii. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS 

(?) 1 588-1600 

The mo.st lamenta- | ble Romaine Tragedie of Titus \ 
Andronicus. \ As it hath sundry times beene playde by 
the I Right Honourable the | Earle of Pembrooke, the | 
Earl of Darbie, the Earle of Sussex, and the | Lorde 
Chamberlaine theyr | Seruants. | at London, | Printed 
by I. R. for Edward White | and are to bee solde at his 
shoppe, at the little | North doore of Paules, at the signe 
of I the Gun. 1600. — Title Page of First Edition, 
1600. 

It is also agreed, that every man heere, exercise his 
owne ludgement, and not censure by Contagion, or upon 
trust, from anothers voice, or face. . . . Hee that will 
sweare leronimo or Andronicus are the best playes yet, 



42 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

shall passe unexcepted at, heere, as a man whose ludge- 
ment shewes it is constant, and hath stood still, these 
five and twentie, or thirtie yeeres. — JONSON, Ben, 1614, 
Bartholomew FayrCj The Induction. 



I have been told by some anciently conversant with 
the stage, that it was not originally his, but brought by a 
private author to be acted, and he only gave some master- 
touches to one or two of the principal parts or characters. 
— Ravenscroft, Edward, 1678, Titus Andronicus, 
Preface. 

All the editors and critics agree with Mr. Theobald in 
supposing this play spurious. I see no reason for differing 
from them; for the colour of the style is wholly different 
from that of the other plays, and there is an attempt at 
regular versification and artificial closes, not always inele- 
gant, yet seldom pleasing. The barbarity of the specta- 
cles, and the general massacre, which are here exhibited, 
can scarcely be conceived tolerable to any audience; yet 
we are told by Jonsbn, that they were not only born, but 
praised. That Shakspeare wrote any part, though The- 
obald declares it incontestible, I see no reason for believ- 
ing. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations on 
Shakspeare^s Plays. 

If those who reject this play as Shakespear's think it 
inferior to the rest of his productions, the doubt is easily 
cleared by recollecting that it was his first effort. There 
are certainly some things in it equal to his happiest sallies; 
and, as we know those are superior to the writings of any 
man who ever lived, the question to be asked is, and 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 43 

this will perpetually occur, if Shakespear did not write 
''Titus Andronicus," who did? — Dibdin, Charles, 
1795, A Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 31. 



If it be true that genius, even in its lowest abasement, 
gives forth some luminous rays to betray its presence; if 
Shakspeare, in particular, bore that distinctive mark 
which, in one of his sonnets, makes him say, in reference 
to his writings, 

"That every word doth almost tell my name," ^ 

assuredly he had not to reproach himself with the produc- 
tion of that execrable accumulation of horrors which, 
under the name of ** Titus Andronicus," has been foisted 
upon the English people as a dramatic work, and in which, 
Heaven be thanked! there is not a single spark of truth, 
or scintillation of genius, which can give evidence against 
him. — GuizoT, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, 
Shakspeare and His Times, p. 66. 



"Titus Andronicus" is now by common consent denied 
to be, in any sense, a production of Shakspeare: very few 
passages, I should think not one, resemble his manner. 
— Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Litera- 
ture of Europe, vol. 11, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 35. 



That, nevertheless, this drama is rich in isolated beau- 
ties, profound thoughts, and striking peculiarities, Shak- 
spearean imagery, which like lightning flashes over and 
illumines the whole piece, and that single scenes are even 
deeply affecting and highly poetical, is generally admitted, 
and requires no proof. It will be sufficient to call atten- 

^ Sonnet 76. 



44 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

tion to the scenes of the shooting the arrows, and of the 
interview between Titus and Tamora, who announces 
herself to the old man, whom she believes to be mad, as 
the Goddess of Vengeance. — Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, 
Shakspeare's Dramatic Art, p. 237. 



Critics have vied with one another in loading this play 
with epithets of contempt; and indeed, as compared with 
the higher products of dramatic poetry, it has little to 
recommend it. But in itself, and for its times, it was 
very far from giving the indication of an unpoetical or 
undramatic mind. One proof of this is, that it was long 
a popular favorite on the stage. It is full of defects, but 
these are precisely such as a youthful aspirant, in an 
age of authorship, would be most likely to exhibit — such 
as the subjection to the taste of the day, good or bad, 
and the absence of that dramatic truth and reality which 
some experience of human passion, and observation of 
life and manners, can alone give the power to produce. 
— Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1844-47, ed. The 
Illustrated Shakespeare, vol. iii. 



After the first scene of ''Andronicus," in which the 
author sets out with the stately pace of his time, we are 
very soon carried away, by the power of the language, 
the variety of the pause, and the especial freedom with 
which trochees are used at the ends of lines, to forget 
that the versification is not altogether upon the best Shak- 
sperean model. There is the same instrument, but the 
performer has not yet thoroughly learnt its scope and its 
power. — Knight, Charles, 1849, Studies of Shakspere, 
bk. ii, ch. i, p. 49. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS, 45 

In 1687 there was a tradition reported by Ravenscroft 
that this play was only touched by Shakespeare. The- 
obald, Johnson, Farmer, Steevens, Drake, Singer, Dyce, 
Hallam, H. Coleridge, W. S. Walker, reject it entirely. 
Malone, Ingleby, Staunton, think it was touched up by 
him. Capell, Collier, Knight, Gervinus, Ulrici, and many 
Germans, think it to be Shakespeare's; R. G. White, 
that it is a joint work of Greene, Marlowe, and Shake- 
speare. ... Is not Shakespeare's; it is built on the 
Marlowe blank-verse system, which Shakespeare in his 
early work opposed; and did not belong to Shakespeare's 
company till 1600. — Fleay, Fredeeick Gaed, 1859, 
Shakespeare Manual^ p. 44. 



Shakspere is the tragedy of Terror; this is the tragedy 
of Horror. ... It reeks blood, it smells of blood; we 
almost feel that we have handled blood — it is so gross. 
The mental stain is not whitened by Shakspere's sweet 
springs of pity; the horror is not hallowed by that ap- 
palling sublimity with which he invested his chosen min- 
isters of death. It is tragedy only in the coarsest mate- 
rial relationships. — Massey, Gerald, 1866, Shakspere's 
Sonnets never before Interpreted, p. 581, Appendix D. 



That tragedy belongs to the pre-Shaksperian school of 
bloody dramas. If any portions of it be from Shak- 
spere's hand, it has at least this interest — it shows that 
there was a period of Shakspere's authorship when the 
poet had not yet discovered himself, a period when he 
yielded to the popular influences of the day and hour; 
this much interest, and no more. — Dowden, Edward, 
1875-80, Shakspere, A Critical Study of His Mind and 
Art, p. 48. 



46 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

To me, as to Hallam and many others, the play de- 
clares as plainly as play can speak, *'I am not Shak- 
spere's; my repulsive subject, my blood and horrors, are 
not, and never were, his." I accept the tradition that 
Ravenscroft reports when he revived and altered the 
play in 1687, that it was brought to Shakspere to be 
touched up and prepared for the stage. — Furnivall, 
Frederick James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



Nearly all the best critics, from Theobald downwards, 
are agreed that very little of this play was written by 
Shakespeare. And such is decidedly my own judgment 
now, though some thirty years ago, in "my salad days," 
I wrote and printed otherwise. , . . The question, by 
whom the main body of the play was written, is not so 
easily answered, and perhaps is hardly worth a detailed 
investigation. ... I agree substantially with Mr. White 
and Mr. Fleay as to Marlowe's share in the workman- 
ship. — Hudson, Henry N., 1880-81, Harvard ed. Shake- 
speare, vol. XIII, pp. 4, 5. 



It is unnecessary to give any analysis of the play, which 
is simply a tissue of horrors. In no reader, however 
little educated, could it possibly excite the slightest emo- 
tion; all pity and all terror absolutely cease when the 
horrible is carried to such lengths, and its outrageous 
atrocity is even capable of provoking a fit of laughter. 
— Staffer, Paul, 1880, Shakespeare and Classical An- 
tiquity, tr. Carey, p. 273. 



It may at first seem strange that his name should have 
come to be associated with a work in which we find so 



TITUS ANDRONICUS, 47 

few traces of his hand; but he may have improved the old 
play in other ways than by rewriting any considerable 
portion of it — by omissions, re-arrangement of scenes, 
and the like — and its great popularity in the revised 
form may have led to its being commonly known as 
"Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus^' (in distinction from 
the earlier version, whosesoever it may have been), until 
at length it got to be generally regarded as one of his 
original productions. The verdict of the editors and 
critics is so nearly unanimous against the authenticity of 
the play that the burden of proof clearly rests with the 
other side. — Rolfe, William J,, 1883, ed. Shakespeare's 
Tragedy of Titus Andronicus, Introduction, p. 15. 



As I re-read this play after coming straight from the 
study of Marlowe, I find again and again passages that, 
as it seems to me, no hand but his could have written. 
It is not easy in a question of this kind to set down in 
detail reasons for our belief. Marlowe's influence per- 
meated so thoroughly the dramatic literature of his day, 
that it is hard sometimes to distinguish between master 
and pupil. When the master is writing at his best there 
is no difficulty, but when his work is hasty and ill-digested, 
or has been left incomplete and has received additions 
from other hands, then our perplexity is great. In our 
disgust at the brutal horrors that crowd the pages of 
''Titus Andronicus," we must beware of blinding our- 
selves to the imaginative power that marks much of the 
writing. — Bullen, A. H., 1884, ed. Works 0} Christo- 
pher Marlowe, Introduction, vol. i, p. Ixxvi. 



It was no invention of Shakespeare's; it is not recon- 
structed upon Shakespeare's lines; but, as we see, char- 



48 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

acters were renamed, some of the matter was recast, 
crudities were struck out, here and there the writing was 
touched over, and some fresh lines were inserted. We find 
lines in which we feel young Shakespeare's touch, and 
while the whole construction of the play that Shakespeare 
worked upon is thoroughly unlike the inventions of Shake- 
speare himself, its crude horrors are, no doubt, felt the 
more intensely for his removal of absurdities in the first 
way of telling them, and for touches of his that gave 
more pomp of words and more force to the style, with 
now and then some small hint of a grace beyond the 
reach of the inventor and first writer of the play. — 
MoRLEY, Henry, 1893, English Writers, vol. x, p. 45. 



Although, on the whole, one may certainly say that 
this rough-hewn drama, with its piling-up of external 
effects, has very little in common with the tone or spirit 
of Shakespeare's mature tragedies, yet we find scattered 
through it lines in which the most diverse critics have 
professed to recognise Shakespeare's revising touch, and 
to catch the ring of his voice. ... It is quite unneces- 
sary for any opponent of blind or exaggerated Shakespeare- 
worship to demonstrate to us the impossibility of bringing 
''Titus Andronicus" into harmony with any other than a 
barbarous conception of tragic poetry. But although the 
play is simply omitted without apology from the Danish 
translation of Shakespeare's works, it must by no means 
be overlooked by the student, whose chief interest lies in 
observing the genesis and development of the poet's 
genius. The lower its point of departure, the more mar- 
vellous its soaring flight. — Brandes, George, 1898, 
William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. i, pp. 40, 41. 



LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 49 

Our loss is great indeed if an impertinent solicitude for 
Shakespeare's morals, an officious care for his reputation 
as a creator of character, lead us to pass over ''Titus 
Andronicus." — Wyndham, George, 1898, The Poems 
of Shakespeare, Introduction, p. xvi. 



LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST 

1588-1598 

A I Pleasant | Conceited Comedie | called, | Loues 
labors lost. | As it was presented before her Highnes | 
this last Christmas. | Newly corrected and augmented | 
By W. Shakespere. \ Imprinted at London by W. W. | for 
Cutbert Burby. \ 1598. — Title Page of First Edition, 
1598. 

Love's Labour Lost I once did see, a Play 

Y-cleped so, so called to my paine. 

Which I to heare to my small loy did slay, 

Giving attendance on my froward Dame: 
My misgiving minde presaging to me ill. 
Yet was I drawne to see it 'gainst my will, 

Each Actor plaid in cunning wise his part. 
But chiefly Those entrapt in Cupids snare; 
Yet All was fained, 'twas not from the hart, 
They seemde to grieve, but yet they felt no care: 
'Twas I that Grief e (indeed) did beare in brest, 
The others did but make a show in lest. 

— T(ofte), R(obert), 1598, Alba. 



I have sent and bene all thys morning huntyng for 
players Juglers & Such kinde of Creaturs, but fynde 



50 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

them harde to finde, wherfore Leavinge notes for them to 
seeke me, burbage ys come, & Saves ther ys no new playe 
that the quene hath not seene, but they have Revyved an 
olde one, Cawled Loves Lahore lost, which for wytt & 
mirthe he sayes will please her excedingly. And Thys ys 
apointed to be playd to Morowe night at my Lord of 
Sowthamptons, unless yow send a wrytt to Remove the 
Corpus Cum Causa to your howse in strande. Burbage 
ys my messenger Ready attendyng your pleasure. — Cope, 
Sir Walter, 1604, Letter ^^To the right honorable the 
Lorde Vycount Cranborne at the Courted Historical 
MSS. 1872, p. 148. 

In this play, which all the editors have concurred to 
censure, and some have rejected as unworthy of our poet, 
it must be confessed that there are many passages mean, 
childish, and vulgar; and some which ought not to have 
been exhibited, as we are told they were, to a maiden 
queen. But there are scattered through the whole many 
sparks of genius; nor is there any play that has more 
evident marks of the hand of Shakspeare. — Johnson, 
Samuel, 1768, General Observations on Shakspeare' s 
Plays. 

''Love's Labour Lost" is numbered among the pieces 
of his youth. It is a humorsome display of frolic; a 
whole cornucopia of the most vivacious jokes is emptied 
into it. Youth is certainly perceivable in the lavish su- 
perfluity of labour in the execution: the unbroken succes- 
sion of plays on words, and sallies of every description, 
hardly leave the spectator time to breathe; the sparkles 
of wit fly about in such profusion that they resemble a 
blaze of fireworks; while the dialogue, for the most part, 



LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 5 I 

is in the same hurried style in which the passing masks 
at a carnival attempt to banter each other. — Schlegel, 
Augustus William, 1809, Dramatic Art and Literature, 
Lecture XIL, tr. Black, rev. Morrison. 



If we were to part with any of the author's comedies, 
it should be this. Yet we should be loth to part with 
Don Adriano de Armado, that mighty potentate of non- 
sense; or his page, that handful of wit; with Nathaniel 
the curate, or Holofernes the schoolmaster, and their 
dispute after dinner, on "the golden cadences of poesy;" 
with Costard the clown, or Dull the constable. Biron is 
too accomplished a character to be lost to the world, and 
yet he could not appear without his fellow-courtiers and 
the king: and if we were to leave out the ladies, the gen- 
tlemen would have no mistresses. So that we believe we 
must let the whole play stand as it is, and we shall hardly 
venture to ''set a mark of reprobation on it." Still we 
have some objections to the style, which we think savours 
more of the pedantic spirit of Shakespear's time than of 
his own genius; more of controversial divinity, and the 
logic of Peter Lombard, than of the inspiration of the 
Muse. It transports us quite as much to the manners of 
the court, and the quirks of courts of law, as to the scenes 
of nature, or the fairy-land of his own imagination. — 
Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters of Shakes pearls 
Plays, p. 206. 

If this juvenile drama had been the only one extant of 
our Shakspere, and we possessed the tradition only of 
his riper works, or accounts of them in writers who had 
not even mentioned this play — how many of Shakspere's 
characteristic features might we not still have discovered 



52 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

in ''Love's Labour's Lost," though as in a portrait taken 
of him in his boyhood. I can never sufficiently admire 
the wonderful activity of thought throughout the whole 
of the first scene of the play, rendered natural, as it is, 
by the choice of the characters, and the whimsical deter- 
mination on which the drama is founded. — Coleridge, 
Samuel Taylor, i8i8. Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, 
ed. Ashe, p. 283. 

Yet with all its diversity of characters, poetic beauties, 
wit, and sentences, "Love's Labour's Lost" is but little 
regarded. It is devoid of dramatic interest, and not even 
the fairest and freshest beauties of Shakspeare's genius 
can compensate for poverty of plot and deficiency of 
action. — Skottowe, Augustine, 1824, Life of Shak- 
speare, vol. i, p. 254. 

There is indeed little interest in the fable, if we can 
say that there is any fable at all; but there are beautiful 
coruscations of fancy, more original conception of char- 
acter than in the "Comedy of Errors," more lively humor 
than in the "Gentlemen of Verona," more symptoms of 
Shakspeare's future powers as a comic writer than in 
either. Much that is here but imperfectly developed 
came forth again in his later plays, especially in "As 
you Like It," and "Much Ado about Nothing." — 
Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature 
of Europe, vol. 11, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 38. 



Both the characters and the dialogue are such as youth- 
ful talent might well invent, without much knowledge of 
real life, and would indeed be likely to invent, before the 



LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 53 

experience and observation of varied society. The com- 
edy presents a picture, not of the true every-day life of 
the great or the beautiful, but exhibits groups of such 
brilliant personages as they might be supposed to appear 
in the artificial conversation, the elaborate and continual 
effort to surprise or dazzle by wit or elegance, which was 
the prevailing taste of the age, in its literature, its poetry, 
and even its pulpit; and in which the nobles and beauties 
of the day were accustomed to array themselves for ex- 
hibition, as in their state attire, for occasions of display. 
All this, when the leading idea was once caught, was 
quite within the reach of the young poet to imitate or 
surpass, with little or no personal knowledge of aristo- 
cratic — or what would now be termed fashionable — 
society. — Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1844-47, ^^• 
The Illustrated Shakespeare, vol. 11. 



"Love's Labour's Lost" is not a favourite play with 
the general reader, but the cause of its modern unpopu- 
larity is to be sought for in the circumstance of its satire 
having been principally directed to fashions of language 
that have long passed away, and consequently little un- 
derstood, rather than in any great deficiency of invention. 
When it has been deeply studied, there are few comedies 
that will afford more gratification. It abounds with 
touches of the highest humour; and the playful tricks and 
discoveries are conducted with so much dexterity, that, 
when we arrive at the conclusion, the chief wonder is 
how the interest could have been preserved in the devel- 
opment of so extremely meagre a plot. Rightly consid- 
ered, this drama, being a satire on the humour of conver- 
sation, could not have been woven from a story involving 
much situation other than the merely amusing, or from 



54 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

any plot which invited the admission of the language of 
passion; for the free use of the latter would have been 
evidently inconsistent with the unity of the author's satiri- 
cal design. — Halliwell-Phillipps, J. O., 1855-79, 
Memoranda on Love's Labour's Lost, p. 18. 



It is this foppery of delicate language, this fashionable 
plaything of his time, with which Shakespeare is occu- 
pied in "Love's Labour's Lost." He shows us the man- 
ner in all its stages; passing from the grotesque and vul- 
gar pedantry of Holofernes, through the extravagant but 
polished caricature of Armado, to become the peculiar 
characteristic of a real though still quaint poetry in Biron 
himself, who is still chargeable even at his best with just 
a little affectation. As Shakespeare laughs broadly at it 
in Holofernes or Armado, so he is the analyst of its curi- 
ous charm in Biron; and this analysis involves a delicate 
raillery by Shakespeare himself at his own chosen manner. 
— Pater, Walter, 1878, Appreciations, p. 171. 



During certain scenes we seem almost to stand again 
by the cradle of new born comedy, and hear the first 
lisping and laughing accents run over from her baby lips 
in bubbling rhyme; but when the note changes we recog- 
nise the speech of gods. For the first time in our litera- 
ture the higher key of poetic or romantic comedy is finely 
touched to a fine issue. The divine instrument fash- 
ioned by Marlowe for tragic purposes alone has found at 
once its new sweet use in the hands of Shakespeare. 
The way is prepared for "As You Like It" and the 
"Tempest;" the language is discovered which will befit 
the lips of Rosalind and Miranda. — Swinburne, Al- 
gernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 47. 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 55 

COMEDY OF ERRORS 

1589-1623 

After such sport, a "Comedy of Errors" (like to Plau- 
tus his Menechmus) was played hy the players; so that 
night began and continued to the end, in nothing but 
confusion and errors; whereupon it was ever afterwards 
called the Night of Errors. — Gesta Grayorum, 1594. 



As to the comic action which constitutes the chief bulk 
of this piece, if it be true that to excite laughter, awaken 
attention, and fix curiosity, be essential to its dramatic 
excellence, the ''Comedy of Errors" cannot be pro- 
nounced an unsuccessful effort; both reader and specta- 
tor are hurried on to the close, through a series of thick- 
coming incidents, and under the pleasurable influence of 
novelty, expectation, and surprise; and the dialogue . . . 
is uniformly vivacious, pointed, and even effervescing. 
Shakspeare is visible, in fact, throughout the entire play, 
as well in the broad exuberance of its mirth, as in the 
cast of its more chastised parts, a combination of which 
may be found in the punishment and character of Pinch 
the pedagogue and conjurer, who is sketched in the 
strongest and most marked style of our author. If we con- 
sider, therefore, the construction of the fable, the narrow- 
ness of its basis, and that its powers of entertainment are 
almost exclusively confined to a continued deception of the 
external senses, we must confess that Shakspeare has not 
only improved on the Plautian model, but, making allow- 
ance for a somewhat too coarse vein of humour, has given 
to his production all the interest and variety that the nature 
and the limits of his subject would permit. — Drake, 
Nathan, 181 7, Shakspeare and His Times, vol. 11, p. 288. 



$6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The myriad-minded man, our, and all men's, Shakspere, 
has in this piece presented us with a legitimate farce in 
exactest consonance with the philosophical principles and 
character of farce, as distinguished from comedy and 
from entertainments. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 
1818, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 292. 



Until I saw it on the stage (not mangled into an opera), 
I had not imagined the extent of the mistakes, the drollery 
of them, their unabated continuance, till, at the end of the 
fourth act, they reached their climax with the assistance 
of Dr. Pinch, when the audience in their laughter rolled 
about like waves. . . . To the strange contrast of grave 
astonishment among the actors, with their laughable situ- 
ations in the eyes of the spectators, who are let into the 
secret, is to be ascribed the irresistible effect. — Brown, 
Charles Armitage, 1838, Shakespeare's Autobiographical 
Poems, pp. 272, 273. 

The "Comedy of Errors" is evidently one of Shake- 
speare's youthful works, and was probably written abou- 
1591. This is supported not only by the frequent occurt 
rence of rhymes and the long-drawn Alexandrines (dog- 
gerel verse) employed by the earlier English dramatists, 
but also by the greater carefulness and regularity of the 
language and versification. . . . Another proof of its 
early origin is the fresh, youthful atmosphere of joke and 
jest which pervades the whole, a naive pleasure in what 
is jocose and laughable for its own sake, and which, not 
being yet burdened by the weight of years, moves more 
lightly and more on the surface of things, and without 
that power and depth of humour which distinguishes the 
poet's maturer works. — Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, Shake- 
speare's Dramatic Art, tr. Schmitz. 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 57 

In this play Shakspere gayly confronts improbabilities, 
and requires the spectator to accept them. He adds to 
the twins Antipholus the twins Dromio. If we are in for 
improbability, let us at least be repaid for it by fun, and 
have that in abundance. Let the incredible become a 
two-fold incredibility, and it is none the worse. We may 
conclude that, while Shakspere was ready to try his hand 
upon a farcical subject, a single experiment satisfied him 
that this was not his province, for to such subjects he 
never returned. — Dowden, Edward, 1875-80, Shak- 
spere^ A Critical Study of His Mind and Art, p. 50. 



The "Comedy of Errors" not only surpasses the "Me- 
naechmi" in the greater complexity of its plot, its greater 
variety of incident, but also in its more generous treat- 
ment of human nature. Not that elaborately wrought- 
out characters are to be sought in it; for this, it must be 
remembered, is Shakespeare's most absolutely comic, and 
almost farcical play, and in this particular class of work 
he never handled the incisive tool of an engraver, like 
Moliere, — his pencil runs galloping over the canvas with 
a light fantastic touch; and this play is, moreover, one of 
his most youthful performances. — Staffer, Paul, 1880, 
Shakespeare and Classical Antiquity, tr. Carey, p. 150. 



The reading of the play is like threading the mazes of a 
dream; where people and things are the same and not the 
same in the same moment. The mistakes, crosses, and 
vexations in the plot so rapidly succeed that to keep the 
course of events distinct in the mind is almost as desper- 
ate an achievement as following all the ramifications of 
a genealogical tree; and — may it be said? — about as 
useful. The piece, however, is amusing; and although 



58 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

our intellectual remuneration for the time expended is not 
remarkable, yet we should bear in mind that it is essen- 
tially a drama of action and circumstance; and if it could 
be effectually represented, the result would be infinitely 
ludicrous. — Clarke, Charles Cowden, i88i, Shake- 
speare-Characters, Second Series, quoted by Rolje. 



Act III, Scene i. seems to have been derived from the 
"Amphitruo" of Plautus; in the Latin comedy Mercury 
keeps the real Amphitruo out of his own house, while 
Jupiter, the sham Amphitruo, is within with Alcmena, 
the real Amphitruo's wife. The introduction of the twin 
Dromios is Shakespeare's own device; and all the pathos 
of the play is his: there is nothing in the Latin original 
suggestive of ^Egeon's touching story at the opening of 
the play, — in Plautus, the father of the twins is already 
dead, and there is no reunion of husband, wife, and 
children. In spite, however, of this romanticising of 
Plautus, Shakespeare has maintained throughout the play 
the hallowed unities of time and place, "the necessary 
companions," according to Academic criticism, ''of all 
corporal actions." From this point of view "The Com- 
edy of Errors" may be regarded as the final triumph of 
the New Romantic Drama over its opponents; it carried 
the warfare into the enemy's camp, and scored the signal 
victory of harmonising Old and New, — the conventional 
canons of Latin Comedy and the pathos of Romanticism. 
— GoLLANCZ, Israel, 1894, ed. Temple Shakespeare, Pre- 
face to Comedy of Errors, p. viii. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 59 

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 

I 590-1 600 

A 1 Midsommer nights [ dreame. | As it hath becne 
sundry times pub | lickely acted, by the Right honoura \ 
ble, the Lord Chamberlaine his | seruants. \ Written by 
William Shakespeare. | Imprinted at London, for Thomas 
Fisher, and are to | be soulde at his shoppe, at the Signe 
of the White Hart, | in Fleetestreete. 1600. — Title 
Page of First Edition, 1600. 



I say, as it is applausfully written, and commended to 
posterity, in the Midsummer-Night's Dream: — if we of- 
fend, it is with our good will: we came with no intent 
but to offend, and show our simple skill. — Taylor, John, 
1622, Sir Gregory Nonsense, vol. i. 



There let Hymen oft appear 
In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 
With mask and antique pageantry; 
Such sights as youthful Poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream. 

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

— Milton, John, 1633, U Allegro. 



September 29. — To the King's Theatre, where we saw 
"Midsummer's Night's Dream," which I had never seen 
before, nor shall ever again, for it is the most insipid 
ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life. — Pepys, 
Samuel, 1662, Diary and Correspondence. 



6o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The Comical part of this Play, is printed separately in 
4°. and used to be acted at Bartholomew Fair, and other 
Markets in the Country by Strolers, under the Title of 
''Bottom the Weaver." — Langbaine, Gerard, 1691, 
An Account of the English Dramatick Poets, p. 460. 



Wild and fantastical as this play is, all the parts in their 
various modes are well written, and give the kind of pleasure 
which the author designed. Fairies in his time were much 
in fashion; common tradition had made them familiar, 
and Spenser's poem had made them great. — Johnson, 
Samuel, 1768, General Observations on Shakspeare's Plays. 



It is astonishing that Shakespear should be considered, 
not only by foreigners, but by many of our own critics, 
as a gloomy and heavy writer, who painted nothing but 
"gorgons and hydras, and chimeras dire." His subtlety 
exceeds that of all other dramatic writers, insomuch that 
a celebrated person of the present day said that he re- 
garded him rather as a metaphysician than a poet. His 
delicacy and sportive gaiety are infinite. In the "Mid- 
summer Night's Dream" alone, we should imagine, there 
is more sweetness and beauty of description than in the 
whole range of French poetry put together. What we 
mean is this, that we will produce out of that single play 
ten passages, to which we do not think any ten passages 
in the works of the French poets can be opposed, dis- 
playing equal fancy and imagery. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters of Shakespear^ s Plays, p. 92. 



It is, indeed, a fabric of the most buoyant and aerial 
texture, floating as it were between earth and heaven, and 
tinted with all the magic colouring of the rainbow. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM, 6 1 

"The earth hath bubbles as the water has, 
And this is of them." 

. . . The canvas, it is true, which he has stretched, has 
been since expanded, and new groupes have been intro- 
duced; but the outline and the mode of colouring which 
he employed have been invariably followed. It is, in 
short, to his picture of the fairy world, that we are in- 
debted for the ''Nymphidia" of Drayton; the ''Robin 
Goodfellow" of Jonson; the miniatures of Fletcher and 
Browne; the full-length portraits of Herrick; the sly allu- 
sions of Corbet, and the spirited and picturesque sketches 
of Milton. — Drake, Nathan, 1817, Shakspeare and His 
Times, vol. 11, p. 299, 353. 

It evidently belongs to the earlier period of Shakspeare's 
genius; poetical, as we account it, more than dramatic; 
yet rather so because the indescribable profusion of im- 
aginative poetry in this play overpowers our senses till 
we can hardly observe any thing else, than from any 
deficiency of dramatic excellence. For in reality the 
structure of the fable, consisting as it does of three if not 
four actions, very distinct in their subjects and person- 
ages, yet wrought into each other without effort or con- 
fusion, displays the skill, or rather instinctive felicity, of 
Shakspeare, as much as in any play he has written. . . . 
The ''Midsummer Night's Dream" is, I believe, alto- 
gether original in one of the most beautiful conceptions 
that ever visited the mind of a poet, — the fairy ma- 
chinery. — Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the 
Literature of Europe, vol. 11, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 39, 40. 



Of all his works, the "Midsummer Night's Dream" 
leaves the strongest impression on my mind, that this mis- 



62 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

erable world must have, for once at least, contained a 
happy man. This play is so purely delicious, so little 
intermixed with the painful passions from which poetry 
distils her sterner sweets, so fragrant with hilarity, so 
bland and yet so bold, that I cannot imagine Shakspeare's 
mind to have been in any other frame than that of health- 
ful ecstasy when the sparks of inspiration thrilled through 
his brain in composing it. — Campbell, Thomas, 1838, 
ed. Shakspeare's Plays, Moxon ed., Life. 



This is, in several respects, the most remarkable com- 
position of its author, and has probably contributed 
more to his general fame, as it has given a more peculiar 
evidence of the variety and brilliancy of his genius, than 
any other of his dramas. Not that it is in itself the 
noblest of his works, or even one of the highest order 
among them; but it is not only exquisite in its kind — it 
is also original and peculiar in its whole character, and of 
a class by itself. — Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 
1844-47, ed. The Illustrated Shakespeare, vol. 11. 



Bottom the weaver is the representative of the whole 
human race. His confidence in his own power is equally 
profound, whether he exclaims, ''Let me play the lion 
too;" or whether he sings alone, "that they shall hear I 
am not afraid;" o*r whether, conscious that he is sur- 
rounded with spirits, he cries out, with his voice of au- 
thority, "Where's Peasblossom?" In every situation 
Bottom is the same, — the same personification of that 
self-love which the simple cannot conceal, and the wise 
can with difficulty suppress. — Knight, Charles, 1849, 
Studies of Shakspere, bk. v, ch. ii, p. 209. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 63 

I know not any play of Shakespeare's in which the 
language is so uniformly unexceptionable as this. It is 
all poetry, and sweeter poetry was never written. — 
Coleridge, Hartley, 1849-51, Essays and Marginalia^ 
vol. II, p. 138. 

What a rich set of fellows those ''mechanicals" are! 
and how individual are their several characteristics! 
Bully Bottom, the epitome of all the conceited donkeys 
that ever strutted and straddled on this stage of the 
world. ... He is a choice arabesque impersonation of 
that colouring of conceit which, by the half-malice of the 
world, has been said to tinge the disposition of actors, as 
invariably as the rouge does their cheeks. Peter Quince, 
although the delegated manager of the company, fades 
into a shadow, a cipher, a nonentity before him. — Clarke, 
Charles Cowden, 1863, Shakespeare-Characters, p. 97. 



"The Midsummer-Night's Dream" is especially re- 
markable for its beauty as a composition. The theme 
throughout is treated with care as well as felicity. In 
structure, in diction, in characterisation, and poetical 
elegance., it is, we may boldly say, faultless. Nor is it 
less fitted for the stage than for the closet. However it 
may be acted, whether as a ballet with a favourite canta- 
trice in the part of Oberon, or otherwise as a Scandina- 
vian legend with the faery monarch properly bearded, 
its histrionic representation is always charming. Its exe- 
cution is as exquisite as its conception is delicate. — ■ 
Heraud, John A., 1865, Shakspere, His Inner Life as 
Intimated in His Works, p. 186. 



64 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

In ''A Midsummer Night's Dream" attains to a con- 
summation which it had never before reached, either in 
our own, or in any other, dramatic literature. English 
romantic comedy, in a word, was now represented by an 
example, not of sudden (for nothing is sudden in litera- 
ture), but of radiant perfection. — Ward, Adolphus 
William, 1875-99, A History of English Dramatic Liter- 
ature, vol. II, p. 273. 

In which some of his most delicate and sprightly verses 
have revelled. The whole play expresses humour on a 
revel, and brings into one human feeling the super-nature, 
the caprice and gross mischance, the serious drift of 
life. — Weiss, John, 1876, Wit, Humor, and Shakspeare. 



I 



Here each kind of excellence is equal throughout; 
there are here no purple patches on a gown of serge, but 
one seamless and imperial robe of a single dye. Of the 
lyric or the prosaic part, the counterchange of loves and 
laughters, of fancy fine as air and imagination high as 
heaven, what need can there be for any one to shame 
himself by the helpless attempt to say some word not 
utterly unworthy? Let it suffice us to accept this poem 
as the landmark of our first stage, and pause to look back 
from it on what lies behind us of partial or of perfect 
work. — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A 
Study of Shakespeare, p. 49. 



In no other of his works has Shakespeare more bril- 
liantly shown that complete dominance of theme which 
is manifested in the perfect preservation of proportion. 
The strands of action are braided with astonishing grace. 
The fourfold story is never allowed to lapse into dulness 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 65 

or obscurity. There is caprice, but no distortion. The 
supernatural machinery is never wrested toward the pro- 
duction of startling or monstrous effects, but it deftly 
impels each mortal personage in the natural line of hu- 
man development. The dream-spirit is maintained 
throughout, and perhaps it is for this reason, — that the 
poet was living and thinking and writing in the free, 
untrammelled world of his own spacious and airy imagi- 
nation, and not in any definite sphere of this earth, — 
that "A Midsummer Night's Dream" is so radically su- 
perior to the other comedies written by him at about 
this period. — Winter, William, 1888, Augustin Daly's 
Arrangement for Representation, Preface, p. 12. 



Here he gave his fancy the reins, and showed, as he 
created Titania and Oberon, and then, again, a Bottom, 
that nothing in the broad domain of poesy was to him 
impossible or unattainable. The moral maturity of the 
poet appears, however, most strikingly in the figure of 
Theseus, with his manly character, his delicacy of feeling, 
and his broad humanity. — Ten Brink, Bernhard, 
1892-95, Five Lectures on Shakespeare, tr. Franklin, p. 
78. 

Enthralled by Shakespeare's art, and submissive to it, 
we accept without question every stroke of time's thievish 
progress, be it fast or slow; and, at the close, acknowl- 
edge that the promise of the opening lines has been re- 
deemed. But if, in spite of all our best endeavours, our 
feeble wits refuse to follow him, Shakespeare smiles 
gently and benignantly as the curtain falls, and begging 
us to take no offence at shadows, bids us think it all as 



66 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

no more yielding than a dream. — Furness, Horace 
Howard, 1895, New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare^ A 
Midsommer Nights Dreame, Preface, p. xxxiv. 



His first masterpiece is a masterpiece of grace, both 
lyrical and comic. . . . How is one to speak adequately 
of ''A Midsummer Night's Dream?" It is idle to dwell 
upon the slightness of the character-drawing, for the 
poet's effort is not after characterisation; and, whatever 
its weak points, the poem as a whole is one of the tender- 
est, most original, and most perfect Shakespeare ever 
produced. It is Spenser's fairy-poetry developed and 
condensed; it is Shelley's spirit-poetry anticipated by 
more than two centuries. And the airy dream is shot 
with whimsical parody. The frontiers of Elf-land and 
Clown-land meet and mingle. — Brandes, George, 1898, 
William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 76. 



Shakespeare's joy in the possession of the poetic gift, 
and his earliest delight in life, found radiant expression 
in ''A Midsummer Night's Dream," a masterpiece of 
poetic fancy, and the gayest and most beautiful of poetic 
comedies. Rich as this drama is in humorous effects, it 
is so essentially lyrical in spirit that it stands alone in 
English poetry; an exquisite expansion of the masque or 
festival poem into a drama of pure fancy and daring 
imagination. — Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1900, Wil- 
liam Shakespeare, Poet, Dramatist, and Man, p. 203. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 6/ 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 

1590^2 

That this play is rightly attributed to Shakspeare, I 
have little doubt. If it be taken from him, to whom 
shall it be given? This question may be asked of all 
the disputed plays, except ''Titus Andronicus;" and it 
will be found more credible, that Shakspeare might some- 
times sink below his highest flights, than that any other 
should rise up to his lowest. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, 
General Observations on Shakspeare's Plays. 



The characters are drawn with strength and truth, and 
it is remarkable that in this play we have the first idea of 
what has been since called genteel comedy. The elegance, 
yet the contrast in Valentine and Protheus, is a very 
striking picture, not only of the etiquette, but the perfidy 
of polite life; for Protheus is more corrupted by education 
than nature, of which his remorse and his contrition are 
proofs, while Valentine has a mind so correctly inclined 
to rectitude that fashion and folly cannot corrupt it. — 
DiBDiN, Charles, 1795, A Complete History of the Stage, 
vol. Ill, p. 38. 

This I's little more, than the first outline of a comedy 
loosely sketched in. It is the story of a novel dramatised 
with very little labour or pretension; yet there are pas- 
sages of high poetical spirit, and of inimitable quaintness 
of humour, which are undoubtedly Shakespear's, and 
there is throughout the conduct of the fable a careless 
grace and felicity which marks it for his. — Hazlitt, 
William, 1817-69, Characters of Shakespear's Plays, p. 
187. 



68 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The "Two Gentlemen of Verona" ranks above the 
''Comedy of Errors," though still in the third class of 
Shakspeare's plays. It was probably the first English 
comedy in which characters are drawn from social life, 
at once ideal and true: the cavaliers of Verona and their 
lady-loves are graceful personages, with no transgression 
of the probabilities of nature; but they are not exactly 
the real men and women of the same rank in England. 
The imagination of Shakspeare must have been guided by 
some familiarity with romances before it struck out this 
comedy. It contains some very poetical lines. — Hallam, 
Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature of Europe, 
pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 37. 

This play appears to me enriched with all the freshness 
of youth; with strong indications of his future matured 
poetical power and dramatic effect. It is the day-spring 
of genius, full of promise, beauty, and quietude, before 
the sun has arisen to its splendour. I can likewise dis- 
cern in it his peculiar gradual development of character, 
his minute touches, each tending to complete a portrait: 
and if these are not executed by the master-hand as 
shown in his later plays, they are by the same apprentice- 
hand, each touch of strength sufficient to harmonize with 
the whole. — Brown, Charles Armitage, 1838, Shake- 
speare's Autobiographical Poems, p. 231, 



In parts, no doubt, the "Two Gentlemen of Verona" 
is sparkling with beauties, but as a whole it betrays a cer- 
tain youthful awkwardness, and in execution a want of 
sustained power and depth. The composition is distin- 
guished by the easy and harmonious flow of its language, 
by a peculiar freshness of view, by the naivete of the par- 



TIVO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 69 

ticular thoughts, an unrestrained burst of wit and humour 
{e.g. in Speed and Launce), and by the delineation of 
the dramatic characters, which although but sketchily ex- 
ecuted, is nevertheless striking, and invariably truthful. 
On the other hand, both the general view and the par- 
ticular thought are deficient in depth; the parts do not 
readily round themselves off and combine into a whole; 
much is merely indicated which ought to have been more 
fully developed, and the conclusion especially is brought 
about too rapidly and without due preparation. — Ulrici, 
Hermann, 1839, Shakspeare^s Dramatic Art, p. 285. 



The composition, as a whole, does not seem to have 
been poured forth with the rapid abundance of his later 
works; but, in its graver parts, bears evidence of the young 
author's careful elaboration, seldom daring to deviate from 
the habits of versification to which his muse had been 
accustomed, and fearful of venturing on any untried nov- 
elty of expression. . . . Upon the whole, the ''Two Gen- 
tlemen of Verona," whatever rank of merit may be as- 
signed to it by critics, will always be read and studied 
with deeper interest than it can probably excite as a mere 
literary performance, because it exhibits to us the great 
dramatist at a most interesting point in his career; giv- 
ing striking, but imperfect and irregular, indications of 
his future powers. — Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 
1844-47, ^^' ^^^ Illustrated Shakespeare. 



The plot seems to have been, in the main, of our poet's 
own invention; though what relates to Proteus and Julia 
may have been suggested, mediately or immediately, by 
the story of Felix and Felismena in the Diana of Monte- 
mayor. Indeed the points of resemblance are such that 



70 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

I feel confident the poet must have been acquainted with 
that part of the Diana; and yet it was not translated till 
1598. — Keightley, Thomas, 1867, The Shakespeare- 
Expositor, p. 22. 

The ''Two Gentlemen" is certainly far less beautiful in 
fancy than the "Dream," but it is a great advance on 
that play in dramatic construction. — Furnivall, Fred- 
erick James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



There is an even sweetness, a simple equality of grace 
in thought and language which keeps the whole poem in 
tune, written as it is in a subdued key of unambitious 
harmony. In perfect unity and keeping the composition 
of this beautiful sketch may perhaps be said to mark a 
stage of advance, a new point of work attained, a faint 
but sensible change of manner, signalised by increased 
firmness of hand and clearness of outline. Slight and 
swift in execution as it is, few and simple as are the 
chords here struck of character and emotion, every shade 
of drawing and every note of sound is at one with the 
whole scheme of form and music. — Swinburne, Al- 
gernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p, 48. 



ROMEO AND JULIET 

1591-3 
an I EXCELLENT | conceited Tragedie | of | Romeo 
and luliet. | As it hath been often (with great applause) 
I plaid publiquely, by the right Ho | nourable the L. of 
Hunsdon \ his Seruants. | LONDON, | Printed by lohn 
Danter. | 1597. — Title Page of First Edition, 1597. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. /I 

Two households, both alike in dignity 

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 

A pair of star-cross 'd lovers take their Hfe, 
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 

Doth with their death bury their parents' strife. 
The fearful passage of their death-mark 'd love, 

And the continuance of their parents' rage, 
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, 

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; 
The which if you with patient ears attend. 
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 
— Shakespeare, William, 1597, Romeo and 
Juliet^ Prologue. 



March 1st. — To the Opera, and there saw "Romeo 
and Juliet," the first time it was ever acted; but it is a 
play of itself the worst that ever I heard in my life, and 
the worst acted that ever I saw these people do, and I 
am resolved to go no more to see the first time of acting, 
for they were all of them out more or less. — Pepys, 
Samuel, 1662, Diary and Correspondence. 



Shakespear show'd the best of his skill in his Mercutio, 
and he said himself, that h^ was forc'd to kill him in the 
third act, to prevent being kill'd by him. But, for my 
part, I cannot find he was so dangerous a person: I see 
nothing in him but what was so exceeding harmless, that 
he might have lived to the end of the play, and died in 
his bed, without offence to any man. — Dryden, John, 
1672, The Conquest of Granada. Second Part. Defence 
of the Epilogue. 



72 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

"Romeo and Juliet" is best known by that copy of it 
which is generally performed, and in which Garrick has 
very judiciously done little more than make Shakespear 
alter his own play, fitting the catastrophe to the original 
invention of the novelist. The two grand points that 
Garrick, by the advice of his friends, has insisted on, 
are the expunging the idea of Rosalind, and Romeo's 
sudden inconstancy on the first impression of Juliet's 
superior beauty, and heightening the catastrophe, by Ro- 
meo's first swallowing the poison, then in the extacy of 
finding Juliet survive, forgetting the desperate act he had 
committed, and flattering himself with a delusive hope of 
future happiness, and, again, the astonishment and de- 
light of Juliet at recovering her lover, all which is in- 
stantly damped by a discovery that her fallacious hopes 
are to be but momentary. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, ^ 
Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 43. 



Who can repress a groan at the sight of an enlightened 
nation, that counts among its critics a Pope and an Ad- 
dison, going into raptures over the description of an 
Apothecary in ''Romeo and Juliet?" It is the most 
hideous and disgusting burlesque. True it is that a flash 
of lightning illumines it, as in all Shakspere's shadows. 
Romeo utters a reflection on the unfortunate wretch who 
clings so closely to life burdened though he be with every 
wretchedness. — Chateaubriand, Francois Rene, Vi- 
COMTE DE, 1 801, Shakspere ou Shakspeare. 



By the manner in which he has handled it, it has be- 
come a glorious song of praise on that inexpressible feel- 
ing which ennobles the soul and gives to it its highest 
sublimity, and which elevates even the senses themselves 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 'J I 

into soul, and at the same time is a melancholy elegy on 
its frailty from its own nature and external circumstances: 
at once the deification and the burial of love. It appears 
here like a heavenly spark that, descending to the earth, 
is converted into a flash of lightning, by which mortal 
creatures are almost in the same moment set on fire and 
consumed. Whatever is most intoxicating in the odour 
of a southern spring, languishing in the song of the night- 
ingale, or voluptuous on the first opening of the rose, is 
breathed into this poem. But even more rapidly than 
the earliest blossoms of youth and beauty decay, it hur- 
ries on from the first timidly-bold declaration of love and 
modest return to the most unlimited passion, to an irre- 
vocable union; then, amidst alternating storms of rapture 
and despair, to the death of the two lovers, who still 
appear enviable as their love survives them, and as by 
their death they have obtained a triumph over every 
separating power. — Schlegel, Augustus William, 
1809, Dramatic Art and Literature, tr. Black, Lecture XII. 



Of the truth of Juliet's story they ^ seem tenacious to 
a degree, insisting on the fact — giving a date (1303), 
and showing a tomb. It is a plain, open, and partly 
decayed sarcophagus, with withered leaves in it, in a wild 
and desolate conventual garden, once a cemetery, now 
ruined to the very graves. The situation struck me as 
very appropriate to the legend, being blighted as their 
love. — Byron, Lord, 1816, Letters. 



O! how shall I describe that exquisite ebullience and 
overflow of youthful life, wafted on over the laughing 



1 The Veronese. 



74 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

waves of pleasure and prosperity, as a wanton beauty 
that distorts the face on which she knows her lover is 
gazing enraptured, and wrinkles her forehead in the tri- 
umph of its smoothness! Wit ever wakeful, fancy busy 
and procreative as an insect, courage, an easy mind that, 
without cares of its own, is at once disposed to laugh 
away those of others, and yet to be interested in them — 
these and all congenial qualities, melting into the common 
copula of them all, the man of rank and the gentleman, 
with all its excellences and all its weaknesses, constitute 
the character of Mercutio! — Coleridge, Samuel Tay- 
lor, 1818, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, 
P- 324- 

What can be more truthful than the love of Romeo and 
Juliet, so young, so ardent, so unreflecting, full at once 
of physical passion and of moral tenderness, without re- 
straint, and yet without coarseness, because delicacy of 
heart ever combines with the transports of the senses! 
There is nothing subtle or factitious in it, and nothing 
cleverly arranged by the poet; it is neither the pure love 
of piously exalted imaginations, nor the licentious love of 
palled and perverted lives; it is love itself — love com- 
plete, involuntary and sovereign, as it bursts forth in 
early youth, in the heart of man, at once simple and 
diverse, as God made it. "Romeo and Juliet" is truly 
the tragedy of love, as "Othello" is that of jealousy, and 
"Macbeth" th^t of ambition. . . . Wherever they are 
not disfigured by conceits, the lines in "Romeo and 
Juliet" are perhaps the most graceful and brilliant that 
ever flowed from Shakspeare's pen. — GuizoT, Francois 
Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, Shakspeare and His Times, 
pp. 167, 173. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 75 

I am inclined to think that the role of Friar Lawrence 
the Poet wrote for himself; in it is every variety of tone 
without its ever rising to the height of passionateness — 
golden words, part instructive, part soothing or consola- 
tory; at last from these holy lips issue the sighs and the 
plaints of the unhappy lovers. — Tieck, Johann Lud- 
wiG, 1826, Dramaturgische Blatter, vol. i. 



Romeo and Juliet are not poetical beings placed on a 
prosaic back-ground; . . . but every circumstance, and 
every personage, and every shade of character in each 
tends to the development of the sentiment which is the 
subject of the drama. The poetry, too, the richest that 
can possibly be conceived, is interfused through all the 
characters; the splendid imagery lavished upon all with 
the careless prodigality of genius; and the whole is lighted 
up into such a sunny brilliance of effect, as though Shak- 
speare had really transported himself into Italy, and had 
drunk to intoxication of her genial atmosphere. How 
truly it has been said, that "although Romeo and Juliet 
are in love, they are not love-sick!" What a false idea 
would anything of the mere whining amoroso, give us of 
Romeo, such as he really is in Shakspeare — the noble, 
gallant, ardent, brave, and witty! And Juliet — with 
even less truth could the phrase or idea apply to her! 
. . . It is flushed with the genial spirit of the south: it 
tastes of youth, and of the essence of youth; of life, and 
of the very sap of life. We have indeed the struggle of 
love against evil destinies, and a thorny world; the pain, 
the grief, the anguish, the terror, the despair; the aching 
adieu; the pang unutterable of parted affection; and rap- 
ture, truth, and tenderness trampled into an early grave: 



j6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

but still an Elysian grace lingers round the whole, and the 
blue sky of Italy bends over all! — Jameson, Anna 
Brownell, 1832, Characteristics of Women. 



The incidents in Romeo and Juliet are rapid, various, 
unintermitting in interest, sufficiently probable, and tend- 
ing to the catastrophe. The most regular dramatist has 
hardly excelled one writing for an infant and barbarian 
stage. It is certain that the observation of the unity of 
time, which we find in this tragedy, unfashionable as the 
name of unity has become in our criticism, gives an in- 
tenseness of interest to the story, which is often diluted 
and dispersed in a dramatic history. No play of Shak- 
speare is more frequently represented, or honored with 
more tears. — Hall am, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to 
the Literature 0} Europe^ pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 43. 



To eulogize this luxuriant drama would be like gilding 
refined gold. — Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shak- 
speare's Plays, Moxon ed., Life. 



I consider Romeo designed to represent the character 
of an unlucky man — a man, who, with the best views 
and fairest intentions, is perpetually so unfortunate as to 
fail in every aspiration, and, while exerting himself to the 
utmost in their behalf, to involve all whom he holds 
dearest in misery and ruin. Had any other passion or 
pursuit occupied Romeo, he would have been equally un- 
lucky as in his love. Ill-fortune has marked him for her 
own. From the beginning to end he intends the best; 
but his interfering is ever for the worst. ... If we 
desire to moralize with the harsh-minded satirist, who 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 'JJ 

never can be suspected of romance, we should join with 
him in extracting as a moral from the play — 

"Nullum numen habes, si sit prudentia; nos te 
Nos facimus, Fortuna, deam, caeloque locamus;" 

and attribute the mishaps of Romeo, not to want of for- 
tune, but of prudence. Philosophy and poetry differ not 
in essentials, and the stern censure of Juvenal is just. 
But still, when looking on the timeless tomb of Romeo, 
and contemplating the short and sad career through 
which he ran, we cannot help recollecting his mourning 
words over his dying friend, and suggest as an inscription 
over the monument of the luckless gentleman, 

"I thought all for the best." 
— Maginn, William, 1842-57, Shakespeare Papers. 



While it has profoundly made use of all that is most 
true and deep in the innermost nature of love, the poet 
has imbued himself also with those external forms which 
the human mind had long before created in this domain 
of poetry. He preferred rather not to be original than to 
misconceive the form suitable; he preferred to borrow the 
expression and the style which centuries long had fash- 
ioned and developed, for in this the very test of their 
genuineness and durability lay; and thus the lyric love- 
poetry of all ages is, as it were, recognised in the forms, 
images, and expressions employed in this tragedy of love. 
— Gervinus, G. G., 1845-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, 
tr. Bunnett, p. 208. 

Who does not recall those lovely summer nights in 
which the forces of nature seem eager for development, 
and constrained to remain in drowsy languor — a min- 



78 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

gling of intense heat, superabundant energy, impetuous 
power, and silent freshness? The nightingale sings in 
the depths of the woods. The flower-cups are half 
closed. A pale lustre is shed over the foliage of the for- 
ests and upon the brow of the hills. The deep repose 
conceals, we are aware, a procreant force; the melancholy 
reserve of nature is the mask of a passionate emotion. 
Under the paleness and the coolness of the night, you 
divine restrained ardors, and flowers which brood in si- 
lence, impatient to shine forth. Such is the peculiar at- 
mosphere with which Shakspeare has enveloped one of 
his most wonderful creations — "Romeo and Juliet." 
Not only the substance, but the forms of the language 
come from the South. Italy was the inventor of the tale: 
she drew it from her national memorials, her old family 
feuds, her annals filled with amorous and bloody intrigues. 
In its lyric accent, its blindness of passion, its blossoming 
and abundant vitality, in the brilliant imagery, in the 
bold composition, no one can fail to recognize Italy. 
Romeo utters himself like a sonnet of Petrarch, with the 
same refined choice and the same antitheses; there is the 
same grace and the same pleasure in versifying passion 
in allegorical stanzas. Juliet, too, is wholly the woman 
of Italy; with small gift of forethought, and absolutely 
ingenuous in her abandon, she is at once vehement and 
pure. — Chasles, Philarete, 1851, Etudes sur W. Shak- 
speare, Marie Stuart, et VAretin, pp. 141, 142. 



The language of the lovers often degenerates into 
quibbling; but what they feel with naivete they express 
with affectation. What they say is an idyll of the ball- 
room; what they feel is a most gracious and vivid picture 
of innocent love. And it is under this image that the two 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 79 

lovers remain graven on our imagination. All the world 
over, when two hearts, young and pure, fall in love with 
each other, if they are cultivated, they think of Romeo and 
Juliet; if they are uncultivated, they do better than think 
of them, they re-enact them. — Girardin, Saint-Marc, 
1855, Cours de Litterature Dramatique, vol. in, p. 364. 



''Romeo and Juliet" is a youthful work; if Shakespeare 
had written it later he would doubtless have lopped the 
concetti and the flowers of rhetoric, but he might per- 
chance have drawn those passionate emotions with less 
ardor. Whoever touches the play under pretext of cor- 
recting it, cannot efface a blemish without erasing the 
brilliant colors of this youthful and burning poetry. — 
Mezieres, Alfred, i860, Shakespeare ses CEnvres et ses 
Critiques. 

In this first great dramatic work of Shakespeare we 
find: Invention, none; it is literally translated from an 
Italian novel: a vitiated taste, since the most scandalous 
obscenity usurps the place of that virgin purity which is 
as necessary to style as to love: a style in a great measure 
depraved by the Italian affectation of that age, when 
authors made jests in place of revealing what should 
have been the true and pure sentiments of the situations in 
which they placed their characters: pathos chilled by the 
false over-refinement of the expressions. Such are the 
defects of Shakespeare in this piece. But after this is 
admitted, and too well proved by the citations over which 
we have thrown the veil of omission, its beauties reveal a 
great genius, a splendid imagination, a soul full of pathos 
and a master of hearts. — Lamartine, Alphonse Marie 
Louis de, 1865, Shakespeare et son (Euvre, p. 132. 



8o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

We found it a v»ry old and time-worn edifice, built 
round an ample court, and we knew it, as we had been 
told we should, by the cap carven in stone above the 
interior of the grand portal. The family, anciently one 
of the principal in Verona, has fallen from much of its 
former greatness. . . . There was a great deal of stable 
litter, and many empty carts standing about in the court; 
and if I might hazard the opinion formed upon these 
and other appearances, I should say that old Capulet has 
now gone to keeping a hotel, united with the retail liquor 
business, both ^ in a small way. — Howells, William 
Dean, 1868, Italian Journeys^ p. 306. 



In two of the scenes we may say that the whole heart or 
spirit of "Romeo and Juliet" is summed up and distilled 
into perfect and pure expression; and these two are writ- 
ten in blank verse of equable and blameless melody. Out- 
side the garden scene in the second act and the balcony 
scene in the third, there is much that is fanciful and grace- 
ful, much of elegiac pathos and fervid if fantastic passion; 
much also of superfluous rhetoric and (as it were) of 
wordy melody, which flows and foams hither and thither 
into something of extravagance and excess; but in these 
two there is no flaw, no outbreak, no superflux, and no 
failure. Throughout certain scenes of the third and 
fourth acts I think it may be reasonably and reverently 
allowed that the river of verse has broken its banks, not 
as yet through the force and weight of its gathering stream, 
but merely through the weakness of the barriers or bound- 
aries found insufficient to confine it. — Swinburne, 
Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of S hakes peare, 
P- 35' 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 8 1 

There is in this play no scope for surmise, no possible 
misunderstanding of the chief characters or of the poet's 
purpose, such as there are in "Hamlet" and ''Macbeth." 
The chill mists and vapours of the North seem to shroud 
these plays in an atmosphere of mystery, uncertainty, 
and gloom. But here all is distinct and luminous as 
the vivid sunshine, or the clear, tender moonlight of the 
South. You have but to throw your mind back into the 
history of the time, and to let your heart warm and your 
imagination kindle with the hot blood and quick-flashing 
fancies of the Italian temperament, and the whole tale of 
love and woe stands fully revealed before you. Still, to 
judge Juliet rightly, we must have clear ideas of Romeo, 
of her parents, and of all the circumstances that deter- 
mined her conduct. — Martin, Lady (Helena Faucit), 
1 88 1, On Some of Shakespeare^ s Female Characters, p. 
192. 

Is there a more delightful love-poem than ''Romeo and 
Juliet?" yet it is full of conceits. . . . No one has drawn 
the true passion of love like Shakespeare. — Tennyson, 
Alfred, Lord, 1883, Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir 
by His Son, vol. 11, p. 2gi. 



But though in subject Shakespeare follows Brooke, it 
need hardly be said that in its spirit — in its transfigura- 
tion of the story — the play altogether transcends the 
poem; a greater effort than Brooke's wearisome produc- 
tion would pale its uneffectual fire before the glowing 
warmth of this Song of Songs of Romantic Passion. — 
Gollancz, Israel, 1896, ed. Temple Shakespeare, Romeo 
and Juliet, Preface, p. x. 



82 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

"Romeo and Juliet" is perhaps not such a flawless 
work of art as "A Midsummer Night's Dream." It is 
not so delicately, so absolutely harmonious. But it is an 
achievement of much greater significance and moment; it 
is the great and typical love-tragedy of the world. It 
soars immeasurably above all later attempts to approach 
it. The Danish critic who should mention such a tragedy 
as "Axel and Valborg" in the same breath w^ith this 
play would show more patriotism than artistic sense. 
Beautiful as Oehlenschlager's drama is, the very nature 
of its theme forbids us to compare it with Shakespeare's. 
It celebrates constancy rather than love; it is a poem of 
tender emotions, of womanly magnanimity and chivalrous 
virtue, at war with passion and malignity. It is not, like 
"Romeo and Juliet," at once the paean and the dirge of 
passion. — Brandes, George, 1898, William Shake- 
speare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 92. 



RICHARD II. 

1593 



The I Tragedie of King Ri ] chard the Se | cond. 
\ As it hath beene publikely acted \ by the right Honourable 
the I Lorde Chamberlaine his Ser \ uants. \ LONDON | 
Printed by Valentine Simmes for Androw Wise, and | 
are to be sold at his shop in Paules church yard at | the 
signe of the Angel. | 1597. — Title Page of First 
Edition, 1597. 

This play is one of those which Shakspeare has appar- 
ently revised; but as success in works of invention is not 
always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last 



RICHARD II. 83 

with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor 
can be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the 
understanding. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Ob- 
servations on Shakspeare^s Plays. 



We cannot suppose a more awful and affecting trans- 
action, than a prince brought before his subjects, com- 
pelled to deprive himself of his royalty, and to resign his 
crown to the popular claimant, his near relation. This 
is a subject worthy the genius of Shakspeare; and yet, 
it must be confessed, he has fallen infinitely short of his 
usual powers to excite that tumult of passion which the 
action merited; he was ever too fond of quibble and con- 
ceit, but here he has indulged himself beyond his usual 
predilection for them; and I cannot help thinking, from 
this circumstance alone, that ''Richard II" was written 
and acted much earlier than the date in the stationers 
books of 1597. — Davies, Thomas, 1784, Dramatic 
Micellanies, vol. i, p. 169. 



Certainly we cannot trace in it his usual force, either as 
to the characters or the language. The probability is 
that it was written in a hurry, which by the way is no 
excuse, and, as the circumstances are wholly taken from 
the historians and chroniclers of that day, many passages 
may have been literally transplanted from the history to 
the play. This having been done, the subject was found 
so unproductive that the author never thought it worth 
his while to finish it; and then the utmost we can say is 
that Shakespear was to blame for letting a play come 
forward unworthy of his reputation. — Dibdin, Charles, 
1795, -^ Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 68. 



84 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

In itself, and for the closet, I feel no hesitation in 
placing it as the first and most admirable of all Shak- 
spere's purely historical plays. — Coleridge, Samuel 
Taylor, i8i8, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed, 
Ashe, p. 256. 

He who had given old Lear, in his misery, so many 
noble and faithful friends, could not find one for Richard; 
the king had fallen, stripped and naked, into the hands 
of the poet, as he fell from his throne; and in himself alone 
the poet has been obliged to seek all his resources; the 
character of Richard II. is, therefore, one of the pro- 
foundest conceptions of Shakspeare. — Guizot, Fran- 
901S Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, Shakspeare and His 
Times, p. 308. 

It is this wonderful subjection of the poetical power 
to the higher law of truth — to the poetical truth, which 
is the highest truth, comprehending and expounding the 
historical truth — which must furnish the clue to the 
proper understanding of the drama of "Richard II." It 
appears to us that, when the poet first undertook 

"to ope 
The purple testament of bleeding war." — 

to unfold the roll of the causes and consequences of that 
usurpation of the house of Lancaster which plunged 
three or four generations of Englishmen in bloodshed 
and misery — he approached the subject with an inflex- 
ibility of purpose as totally removed as it was possible to 
be from the levity of a partisan. — Knight, Charles, 
1849, Studies of Shakspere, bk. iv, ch. i, p. 152. 



RICirARD III. 85 

Beyond the scattered touches and the insinuations 
which denote the inability of the king, and his wavering 
between unseasonable power and weakness, the poet has 
chosen only one event for greater dramatic prominence, 
and with this the catastrophe of Richard's fate is united, 
namely, the knightly quarrel between Bolingbroke and 
Norfolk with which the play begins. . . . Shakespeare 
writes here an immortal lesson upon the royalty of God's 
grace and the law of inviolability. — Gervinus, G. G., 
1849-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bunnett, pp. 284, 
288. 

"Richard II." is one of those plays of Shakespeare's 
which have never taken firm hold of the stage. Its ex- 
clusively political action and its lack of female characters 
are mainly to blame for this. But it is exceedingly inter- 
esting as his first attempt at independent treatment of a 
historical theme, and it rises far above the play which 
served as its model. — Brandes, George, 1898, William 
Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 143. 



RICHARD III. 



1594 
The Tragedy of | King Richard the third. | Containing, 
I His treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: | 
the pittiefull murther of his innocent nephewes: | his 
tyrannicall vsurpation: with the whole course | of his 
detested life, and most deserued death. | As it hath beene 
lately Acted by the | Right honourable the Lord Cham- 
ber- I laine his seruants. | AT LONDON | Printed by 



86 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Valentine Sims, for Andrew Wise, | dwelling in Paules 
Chuch-yard, at the | Signe of the Angell. | 1597. — Title 
Page of First Edition, 1597. 



To him that impt my fame with Clio's quill, 
Whose magick rais'd me from oblivion's den; 
That writ my stone on the Muses hill, 
And with my actions dignifi'd his pen: 
He that from Helicon sends many a rill, 
Whose nectared veines, are drunke by thirstie men; 
Crown'd be his stile with fame, his head with bayes; 
And none detract, but gratulate his praise. 
— Brooke, Christopher, 1614, The Ghost of 
Richard Third, pt. ii, st. i, ed. Grosart. 



Mine host was full of ale and history. 

And in the morning when he brought us nigh 

Where the two Roses join'd, you would suppose 

Chaucer ne'er made the Romaunt of the Rose. 

Hear him. See ye yon wood? There Richard lay 

With his whole army. Look the other way. 

And, lo! where Richmond in a bed of gorse 

Encamp 'd himself o'er night, and all his force: 

Upon this hill they met. Why, he could tell 

The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell, 

Besides what of his knowledge he could say, 

He had authentic notice from the play; 

Which I might guess by 's must'ring up the ghosts, 

And policies not incident to hosts; 

But chiefly by that one perspicuous thing 

Where he mistook a player for a king. 

For when he would have said, King Richard died. 

And call'd, A horse! a horse! he Burbage cried. 

— Corbet, Richard, 161 7, Iter Boredle. 



RICHARD III. 87 

This is one of the most celebrated of our author's per- 
formances; yet I know not whether it has not happened 
to him as to others, to be praised most, when praise is 
not most deserved. That this play has scenes noble in 
themselves, and very well contrived to strike in the ex- 
hibition, cannot be denied. But some parts are trifling, 
others shocking, and some improbable. — Johnson, 
Samuel, i 768, General Observations on Shakspeare's Plays. 



One of the most prominent and detestable vices indeed, 
in Richard's character, his hypocrisy, connected, as it 
always is, in his person, with the most profound skill 
and dissimulation, has, owing to the various parts which 
it induces him to assume, most materially contributed to 
the popularity of this play, both on the stage, and in the 
closet. He is one who can 

— "frame his face to all occasions," 

and accordingly appears, during the course of his career, 
under the contrasted forms of a subject and a monarch, 
a politician and a wit, a soldier and a suitor, a sinner 
and a saint; and in all with such apparent ease and fidel- 
ity to nature, that while to the explorer of the human 
mind he affords, by his penetration and address, a sub- 
ject of peculiar interest and delight, he offers to the prac- 
tised performer a study well calculated to call forth his 
fullest and finest exertions. — Drake, Nathan, 181 7, 
Shakspeare and His Times, vol. n, p. 374. 



"Richard III." may be considered as properly a stage- 
play: it belongs to the theatre, rather than to the closet. 
— Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters oj Shakespeafs 
Plays, p. 160. 



8S WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

If we compare these speeches (of Edmund in Lear, 
and of lago in Othello) with Richard's, and in like man- 
ner if we compare the way in which lago's plot is first 
sown, and springs up and gradually grows and ripens in 
his brain, with Richard's downright enunciation of his 
projected series of crimes from the first, we may discern 
the contrast between the youth and the mature manhood 
of the mightiest intellect that ever lived upon earth, a 
contrast almost equally observable in the difference be- 
tween the diction and metre of the two plays, and not 
unlike that between a great river rushing along turbidly 
in spring, bearing the freshly melted snows from Alpine 
mountains, with flakes of light scattered here and there 
over its surface, and the same river, when its waters have 
subsided into their autumnal tranquillity, and compose a 
vast mirror for the whole landscape around them, and for 
the sun and stars and sky and clouds overhead. — Hare, 
A. W. AND J. C, 1827-48, Guesses at Truth. 



This tragedy forms an epoch in the history of our poet 
and in that of dramatic poetry. In his preceding dramas 
he showed rather the suppleness than the knotted strength 
of his genius; but in the subtle cunning, the commanding 
courage, the lofty pride and ambition, the remorselessness 
of the third Richard, and in the whole sublime depravity 
of his character, he reminds us of the eulogium passed by 
Fuseli on Michael Angelo, who says, that Michael could 
stamp sublimity on the hump of a dwarf. So complete 
was this picture of human guilt, that Milton, in seeking 
for a guilty hero, was obliged to descend to the nether 
regions. — Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shakspeare's 
Plays, Moxon ed., Life. 



RICHARD III. 89 

"Richard III." is, and long has been — taking the 
stage and the closet together — the most universally and 
uninterruptedly popular of its author's works. Few of 
Shakespeare's plays passed through more than two or 
three editions, as they originally appeared, separately, in 
the customary form of quarto pamphlets. Of "Hamlet," 
which seems to have been the most popular of the other 
tragedies, there are but six of these editions; while of 
"Richard III.," between 1597 and 1634, we have, in 
addition to the copies in the first two folios, no less than 
eight separate editions, still preserved; and it is possible 
that there may have been yet another, no longer extant. 
There are also more references and allusions to it, in the 
writings of Shakespeare's contemporaries, and in those of 
the next generation of authors, than to any other of his 
works. For instance. Bishop Corbet, in his poems. Ful- 
ler, in his "Church History," and Milton, in one of his 
prose controversial tracts, all refer to it as familiar to 
their readers. It has kept perpetual possession of the 
stage, either in its primitive form, or as altered and 
adapted to the tastes of the times by Colley Cibber or by 
John Kemble. In one or other of these forms Richard 
III. has been the favourite character of all the eminent 
English tragedians, from Burbage, the original "Crook- 
back," who was identified in his day, in the public mind, 
with the part, through the long succession of the mon- 
archs of the English stage — Betterton, Cibber, Quin, 
Garrick, Henderson, Kemble, Cooke, Kean — down to 
our own days. Yet, in all the higher attributes of the 
poetic drama, "Richard III." bears no comparison with 
the poet's greater tragedies, or with the graver scenes of 
his more brilliant comedies. Intellectually and poetically, 
it must be assigned to a much lower class than "Romeo 



90 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

and Juliet," or ''Othello;" than ''Lear" or "Macbeth;" 
than the "Tempest" or the "Merchant of Venice." — 
Verplanck, Gulian Crommeltn, 1844-47, ed. The Il- 
lustrated Shakespeare. 

If a portion of the bitterness and soured rage that lies 
in Richard's nature was rooted in this self-contempt of 
his outward appearance, his contempt of men on the other 
hand is grounded on the liberal gifts which nature has 
bestowed on his mind, and on the self-reliance which a 
comparison with the men around him inspired. Of con- 
summate powers of speech, of animated mind and piercing 
wit, Shakespeare depicts him throughout in accordance 
with the Chronicle; in his hypocritical wooing of Anne, 
in his sarcasm, and in his equivocal language, this gift of 
a biting and malicious wit is called into play. He exhibits 
similar adroitness in his dealings with men ; and here his con- 
tempt of all, scarcely to be dissembled even by this master 
of dissimulation, is clearly manifested. — Gervinus, G. G., 
1845-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bunnett, p. 264. 



The drama is not so much a composition of co-operative 
characters, mutually developing and developed, as the 
prolonged yet hurried outcome of a single character, to 
which the other persons serve but as exponents and con- 
ductors; as if he were a volume of electricity disclosing 
himself by means of others, and quenching their active 
powers in the very process of doing so. — Hudson, 
Henry Norman, 1872-83, Shakespeare : His Life, Art, 
and Characters, vol. 11, p. 156. 



The references in this play to the three parts of "Henry 
VI." are so many as to make it impossible to deny the 



RICHARD III. 91 

serial character and unity of the whole tetralogy, whatever 
questions may be raised as to the authorship of parts of 
it. The whole exhibits the fate of virtuous weakness in 
the face of unscrupulous strength, and concludes with 
the fate of this strength in the face of Providence. Henry 
VI. perishes by natural causes. The forces which destroy 
Richard III. are wholly supernatural. Three women are 
introduced whose curses are inevitable, like those of the 
Eumenides. Ghosts prophesy the event of a battle. 
Men's imprecations on themselves are literally fulfilled. 
Their destiny is made more to depend on their words 
than their actions; it is removed out of their hands, and 
placed in those of some unearthly power which hears 
prayer and judges the earth. As if the lesson of the poet 
was that there is human remedy where there are ordinary 
human motives, but that for power joined with Machia- 
vellian policy the only remedy is patience dependent on 
Providence. — Simpson, Richard, 1874, The Politics of 
Shakspere's Historical Plays, New Shakspere Society 
Transactions, p. 396. 

He typifies man contending against society, the indi- 
vidual defying by the strength of his own intellect and 
will all the forces naturally banded together against a 
rebellion such as his, and succumbing at last, like the 
boar caught in the toils of the huntsmen, who strike 
down the baffled lord of the forest like a rabid cur. — 
Ward, Adolphus William, 1875-99, A History of Eng- 
lish Dramatic Literature, vol. u, p. 262. 



The demonic intensity which distinguishes the play 
proceeds from the character of Richard as from its source 
and centre. As with the chief personages of Marlowe's 



92 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

plays, so Richard in this play rather occupies the imagi- 
nation by audacity and force than insinuates himself 
through some subtle solvent, some magic and mystery of 
art. His character does not grow upon us; from the first 
it is complete. We are not curious to discover what 
Richard is, as we are curious to come into presence of 
the soul of Hamlet. We are in no doubt about Richard; 
but it yields us a strong sensation to observe him in va- 
rious circumstances and situations; we are roused and 
animated by the presence of almost superhuman energy 
and power, even though that power and that energy be 
malign. — Dowden, Edward, 1875-80, Shakspere, A 
Critical Study of His Mind and Art, p. 161. 



Villain as he is, he has the villain's coolness too. He 
never loses temper, except when he strikes the third mes- 
senger. As a general he is as skilful as Henry the Fifth, 
and looks to his sentinels; while, like Henry the Fourth, 
he is up and doing at the first notice of danger, and takes 
the right practical measures. Yet the conscience he ridi- 
cules, he is made to feel — 

"there is no creature loves me; 
And if I die, no soul shall pity me." 

But we must note that this is only when his will is but 
half awake, half paralyzed by its weight of sleep. As 
soon as the man is himself again, neither conscience nor 
care for love or pity troubles him. The weakest part of 
the play is the scene of the citizens' talk; and the poorness 
of it, and the monotony of the women's curses, have 
given rise to the theory that in "Richard III." Shakspere 
was only rewriting an old play, of which he let bits stand. 
But though I once thought this possible, I have since 



RICHARD III. 93 

become certain that it is not so. The wooing of Anne by 
Richard has stirred me, in reading it aloud, almost as 
much as any thing else in Shakspere. Note, too, how the 
first lines of the play lift you out of the mist and con- 
fusion of the ''Henry VI." plays into the sun of Shak- 
spere's genius. — Furnivall, Frederick James, 1877, 
ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



This only of all Shakespeare's plays belongs absolutely 
to the school of Marlowe. The influence of the elder 
master, and that influence alone, is perceptible from end 
to end. Here at last we can see that Shakespeare has 
decidedly chosen his side. It is as fiery in passion, as 
single in purpose, as rhetorical often though never so 
inflated in expression, as "Tamburlaine" itself. It is 
doubtless a better piece of work than Marlowe ever did; 
I dare not say, that Marlowe ever could have done. — 
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, p. 43. 

In no other play of Shakespeare's, we may surely say, 
is the leading character so absolutely predominant as 
here. He absorbs almost the whole of the interest, and 
it is a triumph of Shakespeare's art that he makes us, 
in spite of everything, follow him with sympathy. This 
is partly because several of his victims are so worthless 
that their fate seems well deserved. Anne's weakness 
deprives her of our sympathy, and Richard's crime loses 
something of its horror when we see how lightly it is 
forgiven by the one who ought to take it most to heart. 
In spite of all his iniquities, he has wit and courage on 
his side — a wit which sometimes rises to Mephistophel- 
ean humour, a courage which does not fail him even in 



94 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



the moment of disaster, but sheds a glory over his fall 
which is lacking to the triumph of his coldly correct 
opponent. However false and hypocritical he may be 
towards others, he is no hypocrite to himself. He is 
chemically free from self-delusion, even applying to him- 
self the most derogatory terms; and this candour in the 
depths of his nature appeals to us. It must be said for 
him, too, that threats and curses recoil from him innocu- 
ous, that neither hatred nor violence nor superior force 
can dash his courage. Strength of character is such a 
rare quality that it arouses sympathy even in a criminal. 
— Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A 
Critical Study, vol. i, p. 163. 



HENRY VI., PART I 

1590-92 

Have certainly received what may be called a thorough 
repair. ... I should conceive it would not be very diffi- 
cult to feel one's way thro' these Plays, and distinguish 
every where the metal from the clay. — Morgann, 
Maurice, i 777-1827, Essay on the Dramatic Character of 
Falstaff, p. 49, note. 

I am afraid that the defects of the play must neces- 
sarily affect my commentary; and I really cannot find one 
good passage to relieve the unavoidable dulness of minute 
criticism. — Courtenay, Thomas Peregrine, 1840, Com- 
mentaries on the Historical Plays of Shakspeare, vol. i, 
p. 213. 



HENRY VI., PART I. 95 

In Margaret we have a foreshadowing of Lady Mac- 
beth finely contrasted with the meek and holy Henry, 
whose gentle lowliness of spirit is brought out with a 
prominence and beauty a good deal beyond what history 
alone would have suggested to the Poet; as even in the 
Lancastrian chronicles he appears unfitted for sovereignty, 
more from mere imbecility than from gentle virtues, 
unsuited to a station demanding "sterner stuff." Occa- 
sionally, too, as in the Cardinal's death, York's last scene, 
and many of Henry's speeches, appears a power of the 
pathetic and of the terrible, in which, however imperfectly 
developed, we cannot mistake the future author of "Lear" 
and "Macbeth." It is on that account that, while from 
the absence of that overflowing thought and quick-flashing 
fancy, which pervade the other histories, the paucity of 
those Shakespearian bold felicities of expression which 
fasten themselves upon the memory, and from the inferi- 
ority of the versification in freedom and melody, they can 
add nothing to the reputation of Shakespeare as a poet, 
they have nevertheless taken strong hold of the general 
mind, are familiar to all readers, and have certainly sub- 
stituted their representations of the persons and incidents 
of the wars of York and Lancaster in popular opinion, 
alike to those of sober narratives of the chroniclers, and 
of the philosophic inferences of modern historians. — 
Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1844-47, ed. The Il- 
lustrated Shakespeare, vol. i. 



If we separate all the scenes between York and Somer- 
set, Mortimer and York, Margaret and Suffolk, and read 
them by themselves, we feel that we are looking upon a 
series of scenes which exhibit Shakespeare's style in his 
historical plays just in the manner in which we should 



96 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

have expected him to have written at the commencement 
of his career. We see the skilful and witty turn of speech 
and the germ of his figurative language; we perceive 
already the fine clever repartees and the more choice 
form of expression; in Mortimer's death-scene and in the 
lessons of his deeply-dissembled silent policy, which 
while dying he transmits to York, we see, with Hallam, 
all the genuine feeling and knowledge of human nature 
which belongs to Shakespeare in similar pathetic or poli- 
tical scenes in his other dramas; all . . . certainly in the 
germ which prefigures future perfection. These scenes 
contrast decidedly with the trivial, tedious war scenes and 
the alternate bombastic and dull disputes between Gloster 
and Winchester; they adhere to the common highway of 
historical poetry, though they have sufficient of the fresh- 
ness of youthful art to furnish Schiller in his "Maid of 
Orleans" with many beautiful traits, and indeed with the 
principal idea of his drama. — Gervtnlts, G. G., 1845- 
62, Shakespeare Commentaries^ tr. Bunnett, p. 116. 



There is a general agreement among critics in attribut- 
ing to Shakspere the scene in which the white and red 
roses are plucked as emblems of the rival parties in the 
state; perhaps the scene of the wooing of Margaret by 
Suffolk if not written by Shakspere was touched by him. 
The general spirit of the drama belongs to an older 
school than the Shaksperian, and it is a happiness not to 
have to ascribe to our greatest poet the crude and hateful 
handling of the character of Joan of Arc, excused though 
to some extent it may be by the concurrence of view in 
our old English chronicles. — Dowden, Edward, 1877, 
Shakspere, {Literature Primers), p. 63. 



HENRY VI., PART L 9/ 

It is broken and choppy to an intolerable degree. The 
only part of it to be put down to Shakspere is the Temple 
Garden scene of the red and white roses; and that has 
nothing specially characteristic in it, though the propor- 
tion of extra-syllabled lines in it forbids us supposing it 
is very early work. There must be at least three hands 
in the play, one of whom must have written — probably, 
only — the rhyme scenes of Talbot and his son. But 
poor as this play seems to us, we have Nash's evidence 
that it touched Elizabethan audiences. — Furnivall, 
Frederick James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere, 
Introduction, p. xxxviii. 



The authorship of the play in hand has been a theme 
of argument and controversy from the days of Theobald 
to the present time: some boldly maintaining that Shake- 
speare could have had no hand in it whatever; others 
supposing that he merely revised and improved it, and 
perhaps contributed a few scenes; while yet others hold 
the main body of it to be his, though an inferior hand 
may have had some share in the composition. The rea- 
soning of the two former classes proceeds, I believe, en- 
tirely upon internal evidence, and seems to me radically 
at fault in allowing far too little for the probable differ- 
ence between the boyhood and the manhood of Shake- 
speare's genius. The argument, branching out, as it 
does, into numerous details, and involving many nice 
points of critical inquiry, is much too long for rehearsal 
in this place; and, even if it were not so, a statement of 
it would hardly pay, as it is not of a nature to interest 
any but those who make a special study in matters of 
that kind. I have endeavored to understand the ques- 
tion thoroughly, and am not aware of any thing that 



98 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

should hinder my viewing it fairly; and I can but give 
it as my firm and settled judgment that the main body 
of the play is certainly Shakespeare's; nor do I perceive 
any clear and decisive reason for calling in another hand 
to account for any part of it. — Hudson, Henry Nor- 
man, 1880, Harvard, ed. Shakespeare, vol. viii, p. 4. 



HENRY VI., PART II 

1594-5 
Margaret of Anjou, as exhibited in these tragedies, is a 
dramatic portrait of considerable truth, and vigour, and 
consistency — but she is not one of Shakspeare's women. 
He who knew so well in what true greatness of spirit con- 
sisted — who could excite our respect and sympathy even 
for a Lady Macbeth, would never have given us a heroine 
without a touch of heroism; he would not have portrayed 
a high-hearted woman, struggling unsubdued against the 
strangest vicissitudes of fortune, meeting reverses and dis- 
asters, such as would have broken the most masculine 
spirit, with unshaken constancy, yet left her without a 
single personal quality which would excite our interest in 
her bravely endured misfortunes; and this too in the very 
face of history. He would not have given us, in lieu of 
the magnanimous queen, the subtle and accomplished 
French woman, a mere '* Amazonian trull," with every 
coarser feature of depravity and ferocity; he would have 
redeemed her from unmingled detestation; he would have 
breathed into her some of his own sweet spirit — he 
would have given the woman a soul. — Jameson, Anna 
Brownell, 1832, Characteristics oj Women. 



HENRY VI., PART III, 99 

I ,am certain that "Henry VI." is in the main not 
Shakespeare's, though here and there he may have put 
in a touch, as he undoubtedly did in ''The Two Noble 
Kinsmen." — Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 1883, Some 
Criticisms on Poets, Memoir by His Son, vol. 11, p. 290. 



Ah yes! Even Shakespeare is guilty of injustice towards 
this noble maiden who saved her country, and he treats 
her in an unfriendly and unloving manner, even if he 
does not proclaim himself her decided enemy. And even 
if she saved her country with the aid of hell, she still 
deserves respect and admiration. Or are the critics right, 
who hold that those passages in which the maid makes 
her appearance, as also Parts II. and ///. of "Henry VI." 
are not by Shakespeare? They maintain that he only 
revised this trilogy which he took from older plays. I 
would gladly be of their opinion for the sake of the Maid 
of Orleans, but their arguments are untenable. In many 
parts these doubtful plays bear the full impress of Shake- 
speare's genius. — Heine, Heinrtch, 1838-95, Notes on 
Shakespeare Heroines, tr. Benecke, p. 84. 



HENRY VI., PART III 

1594-5 
From mere inferiority nothing can be inferred; in the 
productions of wit there will be inequality. Sometimes 
judgment will err, and sometimes the matter itself will 
defeat the artist. Of every author's works one will be 
the best, and one will be the worst. . . . Dissimilitude 
of style, and heterogeneousness of sentiment, may suffi- 



t.ofC, 



lOO WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

ciently show that a work does not really belong ta the 
reputed author. But in these plays no such marks of 
spuriousness are found. The diction, the versification, 
and the figures, are Shakspeare's. — Johnson, Samuel, 
1768, General Observations on Shakspeare^s Plays. 



Never attracting or affecting me quite as the other 
works of Shakespeare, nor indeed ever seeming to me to 
be his works, they had never been so perused as to en- 
gage me in spontaneous interpretation or restoration. 
Even up to the present hour too, of Shakespeare's close, 
bold, and subtle reasoning; his epigrammatic play of words 
and ideas; his grace and dignity of dialogue; his psycho- 
logical curiosity; his metaphorical prodigality; his dis- 
closed fruits of pensive experience; his encased kernels 
of consolidated thought; his touches of human nature, 
here finely caught, there mysteriously inspired; his world- 
wide illustration; his magical imagery of outward things 
reflected from the innermost sense of them; all involved 
in a stream of melody whose onflow becomes in itself 
pathetic; — of these from the three parts of Henry the 
Sixth I still miss some sensible measure. — Vaughn, 
Henry Halford, 1880, New Readings and New Render- 
ings of Shakespeare's Tragedies, vol. 11, p. v. 



KING JOHN 

1595 

The tragedy of ''King John," though not written with 

the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a very 

pleasing interchange of incidents and characters. The 

lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the 



KING JOHN. 10 1 

bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity 
which this author delighted to exhibit. — Johnson, Sam- 
uel, 1768, General Observations on Shakspeare^s Plays. 



I think its worth has been rather underrated. ... In 
the order of Shakspeare's tragedies, I should place it im- 
mediately after Othello, Macbeth, Lear, Hamlet, Julius 
Caesar, and Romeo and Juliet. — Davies, Thomas, 1784, 
Dramatic Micellanies, vol. i, p. 114. 



My idea of Constance is that of a lofty and proud 
spirit, associated with the most exquisite feelings of ma- 
ternal tenderness, which is, in truth, the predominant 
feature of this interesting personage. The sentiments 
which she expresses, in the dialogue between herself, the 
King of France, and the Duke of Austria, at the com- 
mencement of the second act of this tragedy, very strongly 
evince the amiable traits of a humane disposition, and of 
a grateful heart. . . . The idea one naturally adopts of 
her qualities and appearance are, that she is noble in 
mind, and commanding in person and demeanour; that 
her countenance was capable of all the varieties of grand 
and tender expression, often agonized, though never dis- 
torted by the vehemence of her agitations. Her voice, 
too, must have been ** propertied like the tuned spheres," 
obedient to all the softest inflections of maternal love, 
to all the pathos of the most exquisite sensibility, to the 
sudden burst of heart-rending sorrow, and to the terrify- 
ing imprecations of indignant majesty, when writhing 
under the miseries inflicted on her by her dastardly op- 
pressors and treacherous allies. The actress whose lot it 
is to personate this great character should be richly en- 
dowed by nature for its various requirements; yet, even 



102 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

when thus fortunately gifted, much, very much, remains 
to be efifected by herself; for in the performance of the 
part of Constance great difficulties, both mental and 
physical, present themselves. — Siddons, Sarah, 1831? 
Li]e of Mrs. Siddons, by Campbell, ch. v. 



That which strikes us as the principal attribute of 
Constance is power — power of imagination, of will, of 
passion, of affection, of pride: the moral energy, that 
faculty which is principally exercised in self-control, and 
gives consistency to the rest, is deficient; or rather, to 
speak more correctly, the extraordinary development of 
sensibility and imagination, which lends to the character 
its rich poetical colouring, leaves the other qualities com- 
paratively subordinate. Hence it is that the whole com- 
plexion of the character, notwithstanding its amazing 
grandeur, is so exquisitely feminine. The weakness of 
the woman, who by the very consciousness of that weak- 
ness is worked up to desperation and defiance, the fluc- 
tuations of temper and the bursts of sublime passion, the 
terrors, the impatience, and the tears, are all most true to 
feminine nature. The energy of Constance not being 
based upon strength of character, rises and falls with the 
tide of passion. Her haughty spirit swells against resist- 
ance, and is excited into frenzy by sorrow and disappoint- 
ment; while neither from her towering pride, nor her 
strength of intellect, can she borrow patience to submit, 
or fortitude to endure. — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 
1832, Characteristics of Women. 



The prevailing characteristic both of the plot and of 
the chief personages in the play of ''King John" is that 
of "craft." The poet, it is true, has taken — as he found 



KING JOHN. 103 

it in the monkish record — the historical character of the 
king; but he has, with his own supreme genius, worked 
it out from the first scene to the last with undeviating 
consistency, and a revolting determination of purpose. — 
Clarke, Charles Cowden, 1863, Shakespeare-Characters^ 
P- 319- 

There is little in the play of "King John" which 
strengthens or gladdens the heart. In the tug of selfish 
power hither and thither, amidst the struggle of kingly 
greeds and priestly pride, amidst the sales of cities, the 
loveless marriage of princes, the rumors and confusion of 
the people, a pathetic beauty illumines the boyish figure 
of Arthur, so gracious, so passive, untouched by the 
adult rapacities and crimes of the others: 

"Good, my mother, peace! 

I would that I were low laid in my grave; 

I am not worth this coil that's made for me." 
The voice of maternal passion, a woman's voice, impotent 
and shrill, among the unheeding male forces, goes up also 
from the play. There is the pity of stern armed men for 
the ruin of a child's life. These, and the boisterous but 
genuine and hearty patriotism of Faulconbridge, are the 
only presences of human virtue or beauty which are to 
be perceived in the degenerate world depicted by Shak- 
spere. — Dowden, Edward, 1875-80, Shakspere, A 
Critical Study of His Mind and Art, p. 153. 



So long as John is the impersonator of England, of 
defiance to the foreigner, and opposition to the Pope, so 
long is he a hero. But he is bold outside only, only 
politically; inside, morally, he is a coward, sneak, and 
skunk. See how his nature comes out in the hints for 



104 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the murder of Arthur, his turning on Hubert when he 
thinks the murder will bring evil to himself, and his im- 
ploring Falconbridge to deny it. His death ought, of 
course, dramatically to have followed from some act of 
his in the play, as revenge for the murder of Arthur, or 
his plundering the abbots or abbeys, or opposing the 
Pope. The author of ''The Troublesome Raigne," with 
a true instinct, made a monk murder John out of revenge 
for his anti-Papal patriotism. But Shakspere, unfortu- 
nately, set this story asi-de, though there was some war- 
rant for it in Holinshed, and thus left a serious blot on 
his drama which it is impossible to remove. The charac- 
ter which to me stands foremost in ''John" is Constance, 
with that most touching expression of grief for the son she 
had lost. Beside her cry, the tender pleading of Arthur 
for his life is heard, and both are backt by the rough 
voice of Falconbridge, who. Englishman-like, depreciates 
his own motives at first, but is lifted by patriotism into a 
gallant soldier, while his deep moral nature shows itself 
in his heartfelt indignation at Arthur's supposed murder. 
The rhetoric of the earlier historical plays is kept up in 
"King John," and also Shakspere's power of creating 
situations, which he had possesst from the first. — Furni- 
VALL, Frederick James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



Almost any prose can be cut up into blank verse, but 
blank verse becomes the finest vehicle of thought in the 
language of Shakespeare and Milton. As far as I am 
aware, no one has noticed what great ^schylean lines 
there are in Shakespeare, particularly in "King John." 
— Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 1883, Some Criticisms on 
Facts, Memoir by His Son, vol. 11, p. 289. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. I05 

In this play, as in almost all the works of Shakespeare's 
younger years, the reader is perpetually amazed to find 
the finest poetical and rhetorical passages side by side 
with the most intolerable euphuistic affectations. And 
we cannot allege the excuse that these are legacies from 
the older play. On the contrary, there is nothing of the 
kind to be found in it; they are added by Shakespeare, 
evidently with the express purpose of displaying delicacy 
and profundity of thought. — Brandes, George, 1898, 
William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 174. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE 

1596-98 

The I Excellent | History of the Mer- | chant of 
Venice. \ With the extreme cruelty of Shylocke \ the Jew 
towards the said Merchant, in cut | ting a just pound of 
his flesh. And the obtaining \ of Portia by the choyse 
three Caskets. \ Written by W. Shakespeare. | Printed by 
J. Roberts, 1600. — Title Page of First Edition, 1600. 



The Play it self, take it all together, seems to me to be 
one of the most finish'd of any of Shakespeafs. The 
Tale indeed, in that Part relating to the Caskets, and 
the extravagant and unusual kind of Bond given by 
Antonio, is a little too much remov'd from the Rules of 
Probability: But taking the Fact for granted, we must 
allow it to be very beautifully written. There is some- 
thing in the Friendship of Antonio to Bassanio very 
Great, Generous, and Tender. — Rowe, Nicholas, 1709, 
Some Account of the Life b-'c, of Mr. William Shakes pear ^ 
p. xix. 



I06 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

With all my enthusiasm for Shakspeare, it is one of his 
plays that I like the least. The story of the caskets is 
silly, and except the character of Shylock, I see nothing 
beyond the attainment of a mortal: Euripides, or Racine 
or Voltaire, might have written all the rest. — Walpole, 
Horace, 1788, Letters^ vol. ix, p. 124. 
S ■ 

I always consider the "Merchant of Venice" as con- 
cluding with the punishment of Shylock in the fourth 
Act; and a finer catastrophe does not occur in any drama, 
ancient or modern. The fifth act may be considered as 
a light afterpiece; but it is an afterpiece by Shakespear, 
and in his best manner. — Pye, Henry James, 1807, 
Comments on the Commentators on Shakespear ^ p. 77. 



"The Merchant of Venice" is one of Shakspeare's most 
perfect works: popular to an extraordinary degree, and 
calculated to produce the most powerful effect on the 
stage, and at the same time a wonder of ingenuity and art 
for the reflecting critic. Shylock, the Jew, is one of the 
inconceivable masterpieces of characterization of which 
Shakspeare alone furnishes us with examples. It is easy 
for the poet and the player to exhibit a caricature of 
national sentiments, modes of speaking, and gestures. 
Shylock however is everything but a common Jew: he 
possesses a very determinate and original individuality, 
and yet we perceive a light touch of Judaism in every- 
thing which he says and does. We imagine we hear a 
sprinkling of the Jewish pronunciation in the mere written 
words, as we sometimes still find it in the higher classes, 
notwithstanding their social refinement. In tranquil sit- 
uations, what is foreign to the European blood and 
Christian sentiments is less perceivable, but in passion 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 10/ 

the national stamp appears more strongly marked. All 
these inimitable niceties the finished art of a great actor 
can alone properly express. — Schlegel, Augustus 
William, 1809, Dramatic Art and Literature^ tr. Blacky 
Lecture XII. 

Portia is not a very great favourite with us; neither are 
we in love with her maid, Nerissa. Portia has a certain 
degree of affectation and pedantry about her, which is 
very unusual in Shakespear's women, but which perhaps 
was a proper qualification for the office of a ''civil doctor," 
which she undertakes and executes so successfully. The 
speech about Mercy is very well; but there are a thousand 
finer ones in Shakespear. We do not admire the scene 
of the caskets: and object entirely to the Black Prince, 
Morocchius. We should like Jessica better if she had 
not deceived and robbed her father, and Lorenzo, if he 
had not married a Jewess, though he thinks he has a 
right to wrong a Jew. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, 
Characters of Shakespear^s Plays, p. 193. 



Shylock is abhorred and execrated; but the skill of the 
poet has endued him with qualities which preserve him 
from contempt. His fierceness, cruelty, and relentless- 
ness are dignified by intellectual vigour. His actions are 
deliberate, they are the emanations of his bold and mas- 
culine understanding. Let the art with which he nego- 
tiates his bond be contemplated; consider his coolness, 
his plausible exaggeration of the dangers to which Anto- 
nio's property is subjected; his bitter sarcasms and in- 
sulting gibes; all efforts of the mind to induce a belief of 
his indifference, and to disguise his real design: follow 
him into court, behold him maintaining his superiority in 



I08 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

argument, unmoved by insult and unawed by power, till 
disappointment leaves him nothing to contend for and 
anguish stops his speech, and then let his claims to intel- 
lectual distinction be decided on. — Skottowe, Augus- 
tine, 1824, Li]e of Shakspeare, vol. 1, p. 325. 



In the management of the plot, which is sufficiently 
complex without the slightest confusion or incoherence, I 
do not conceive that it has been surpassed in the annals 
of any theatre. . . . The variety of characters in the 
''Merchant of Venice," and the powerful delineation of 
those upon whom the interest chiefly depends, the effect- 
iveness of many scenes in representation, the copiousness 
of the wit, and the beauty of the language, it would be 
superfluous to extol; not is it our office to repeat a tale 
so often told as the praise of Shakspeare. In the language 
there is the commencement of a metaphysical obscurity 
which soon became characteristic; but it is perhaps less 
observable than in any later play. — Hallam, Henry, 
1837-9, Introduction to the Literature of Europe, vol. 11, 
pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 50. 

When I saw this Play at Drury Lane, there stood be- 
hind me in the box a pale, fair Briton, who at the end of 
the Fourth Act, fell a-weeping passionately, several times 
exclaiming, "The poor man is wronged!" . . . When I 
think of those tears I have to rank ''The Merchant of 
Venice" with the Tragedies, although the frame of the 
piece is decorated with the merriest figures of Masks, of 
Satyrs, and of Cupids, and the Poet meant the Play for 
a Comedy. . . . Wandering dream-hunter that I am, I 
looked round every where on the Rialto to see if I could 
not find Shylock. . . . But I found him nowhere on the 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. lOQ 

Rialto, and I determined to seek my old acquaintance in 
the Synagogue. The Jews were then celebrating their 
day of Atonement. . . . Although I looked all round 
the Synagogue, I nowhere discovered the face of Shy- 
lock. I saw him not. But towards evening, when, ac- 
cording to Jewish belief, the gates of Heaven are shut, 
and no prayer can then obtain admittance, I heard 
a voice, with a ripple of tears that were never wept by 
eyes. It was a sob that could come only from a breast 
that held in it all the martyrdom which, for eighteen 
centuries, had been borne by a whole tortured people. 
It was the death-rattle of a soul sinking down dead-tired 
at heaven's gates. And I seemed to know the voice, and 
I felt that I had heard it long ago, when, in utter despair, 
it moaned out, then as now, "Jessica, my child!" — • 
Heine, Heinrich, 1838-56?, Sammtliche Werke, vol. v, 
P- 324. 

One of the most popular, and, at the same time, no- 
blest productions of our great master, unites all the 
charms and excellencies of Shakspeare's style. . . . But 
not merely does Shakspeare's wonderful skill in delineat- 
ing character shine forth in this piece in the most brilliant 
light; the composition, arrangement, and unfolding of 
the intricate plot are equally wonderful. — Ulrici, Her- 
mann, 1839, Shakspeare^s Dramatic Art, pp. 300, 301. 



''The Merchant of Venice," in our opinion, was written 
neither to glorify friendship, nor to condemn the usurer, 
nor, finally to represent any moral idea, rich and manifold 
as are the moral allusions which the thoughtful reader 
carries away with him, together with the aesthetic enjoy- 
ment of this work of Art. The essential and definite 



no WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

aspect of life here illustrated admonishes us that lasting 
success, sure, practical results can be secured only by a 
just estimate of things, by prudent use and calm endur- 
ance of given circumstances, equally far removed from 
violent resistance and cowardly concession. Strong feel- 
ing and clear, good sense holds the scales in the pervad- 
ing character of the whole Drama; fortune helps the hon- 
est in so far as they boldly and wisely woo its favour; 
but rigid Idealism, although infinitely more amiable and 
estimable, shows itself as scarcely less dangerous than 
hard-hearted selfishness. — Kreyssig, F., 1862, Yorle- 
sungen iiher Shakespeare, vol. iii, p. 381. 



"The Merchant of Venice" marks the perfection of 
his development as a dramatist in the completeness of its 
stage effect, the ingenuity of its incidents, the ease of its 
movement, the poetic beauty of its higher passages, the 
reserve and self-control with which its poetry is used, the 
conception and development of character, and above all 
the mastery with which character and event are grouped 
round the figure of Shylock. — Green, John Richard, 
1874, A Short History of the English People, ch. vii, sec. 
vii. 

I chose Shakespeare's Portia, then as now my ideal of 
a perfect woman, — ... the wise, witty woman, loving 
with all her soul, and submitting with all her heart to a 
man whom everybody but herself (who was the best 
judge) would have judged her inferior; the laughter- 
loving, light-hearted, true-hearted, deep-hearted woman, 
full of keen perception, of active efficiency, of wisdom 
prompted by love, of tenderest unselfishness, of generous 
magnanimity; noble, simple, humble, pure; true, dutiful, 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. Ill 

religious, and full of fun; delightful above all others, the 
woman of women. — Kemble, Frances Anne, 1876, 
Old Woman's Gossip, Atlantic Monthly, vol. 37, p. 713. 



Shylock ranks as one of the most perfect characteriza- 
tions in Shakespeare. How complete in every respect! 
How vividly does he rise up before us! Not merely his 
physical appearance, but his entire spiritual nature stands 
forth in the plainest lineaments. In fact, we feel as if 
we know him better than we could possibly have done in 
real life. The Poet has laid open the most hidden re- 
cesses of character, has portrayed him in the most diverse 
relations, with a truth and fulness unapproached and 
unapproachable. We ask ourselves — whence this com- 
pleteness, this richness, this concreteness, of characteriza- 
tion? If we wish to see the infinite difference upon the 
same subjects, compare Shylock with the best efforts of 
other dramatists. Take L'Avare, by Moliere. Placed 
by the side of Shylock, how meager and unsatisfactory! 
Can we get at the ground of this extraordinary superior- 
ity ? — Snider, Denton Jaques, 1877, Systems 0} Shake- 
speare^s Dramas, vol. i, p. 325. 



But it is of little moment to consider how far away 
from Shakespeare has been the Portia of the English 
stage, as we gather from its annals. Rather should we 
try to form a clear and definite conception of her charac- 
ter, and of her influence upon the main incidents of the 
play, by a conscientious study of her in the leaves of the 
great master's ''unvalued book." This, then, is how she 
pictures herself to my mind. I have always looked upon 
her as a perfect piece of Nature's handiwork. Her 
character combines all the graces of the richest woman- 



I 1 2 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

hood with the strength of purpose, the wise helpfulness, 
and sustained power of the noblest manhood. Indeed, 
in this instance, Shakespeare shows us that it is the 
woman's keener wit and insight which see into and over- 
come the difficulty which has perplexed the wisest heads 
in Venice. For, without a, doubt, as it seems to me at 
least, it is to her cultivated and bright intelligence, and 
not alone to the learned Bellario, her cousin, that Bas- 
sanio is indebted for the release of his friend Antonio. — 
Martin, Lady (Helena Faucit), 1880, On Some of 
Shakespeare's Female Characters, p. 30. 



The character of Shylock is one of Shakespeare's most 
perfect creations, even though he devotes comparatively 
little space to its elucidation. The conception of this 
figure is as grand as the perfection of art with which it 
appears upon the scene. The very first words he speaks 
are characteristic, and still more the manner in which 
he speaks them; and at each one of his utterances we 
seem to see the man before us, and we ourselves supply 
the gestures, the play of expression, which accompany 
his speech. As in his "Richard III." Shakespeare has 
here furnished the actor with a worthy and most grateful 
task. — Ten Brink, Bernhard, 1892-95, Five Lectures 
on Shakespeare, tr. Franklin, p. 185. 



TAMING OF THE SHREW 

1596-97 

April 9. — To the King's house, . . . and there we 
saw "The Tameing of a Shrew," which hath some very 
good pieces in it, but generally is but a mean play; and 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. II3 

the best part ''Sawny," done by Lacy, hath not half its 
life, by reason of the words, I suppose, not being under- 
stood, at least by me. — Pepys, Samuel, 1667, Diary and 
Correspondence. 

"The Taming of the Shrew" is almost the only one of 
Shakespear's comedies that has a regular plot, and 
downright moral. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Charac- 
ters of Shakespear^s Plays, p. 219. 



In the shape in which the piece lies before us it pos- 
sesses the peculiarity of appearing at once perfect and 
imperfect. If we confine our attention to the principal 
part — the spectacle as it were within the spectacle — it 
seems no doubt complete and finished. On the other 
hand, the induction is left undeveloped and incomplete. 
— Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, Shakspeare's Dramatic Art, 
P- 294- 

He has stamped upon the comedy throughout, and 
especially in the Induction, the indelible and unquestion- 
able marks of his own mind, by deliberately rejecting 
many passages of elaborate and even splendid imagery 
such as no poet of that age would have been ashamed of, 
to substitute other passages, and even scenes, of a higher 
and purer poetry and sweeter melody. — Verplanck, 
GuLiAN Crommelin, 1 844-4 7, ^d. The Illustrated Shake- 
speare. 

Shakspeare is quite as much at home in the sports 
afforded by birds of the air, as in the pursuit of beasts of 
chase; his knowledge of Falconry, or Hawking, so fa- 
vourite a pastime with the noble and gentle of his day, 



1 1 4 WILLI A M SUA KESPEA RE. 

is shown by numerous passages in his plays; and prob- 
ably no writer on the Noble Science ever compressed so 
much technical information in a narrower compass Ihan 
we find in eight lines in ''The Taming of the Shrew," 
where Petruchio rejoices over the result of his treatment 
of the newly-married Katharine: — 

"My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty, etc." 
— French, George Russell, 1868, Shakspeareana 
Genealogica, Appendix, p. 572. 



The critics have been very warm in praise of Shake- 
speare's Induction, some, however, regretting that he did 
not keep it up till the end of the play, others suspecting 
that he did so keep it up, but that the continuation has 
been lost. I think otherwise decidedly, being convinced 
that in this as in other things the Poet was wiser than 
his critics. For the purpose of the Induction was but to 
start an interest in the play; and he probably knew that 
such interest, once started, would be rather hindered than 
furthered by any coming-in of other matter; that there 
would be no time to think of Sly amidst such a whirl- 
wind of oddities and whimsicalities as he was going to 
raise. But the regret in question well approves the good- 
ness of the thing; for, the better the thing, the more apt 
men are to think they have not enough until they have 
too much. — Hudson, Henry Norman, 1880, ed. Har- 
vard Shakespeare, vol. 11, p. 136. 



The refined instinct, artistic judgment, and consum- 
mate taste of Shakespeare were perhaps never so won- 
derfully shown as in his recast of another man's work — 
a man of real if rough genius for comedy — which we 
get in the "Taming of the Shrew." Only the collation 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. II5 

of scene with scene, then of speech with speech, then of 
line with line, will show how much may be borrowed 
from a stranger's material and how much may be added 
to it by the same stroke of a single hand. All the force 
and humour alike of character and situation belong to 
Shakespeare's eclipsed and forlorn precursor; he has 
added nothing; he has tempered and enriched every- 
thing. That the luckless author of the first sketch is like 
to remain a man as nameless as the deed of the witches in 
''Macbeth," unless some chance or caprice of accident 
should suddenly flash favouring light on his now imper- 
sonal and indiscoverable individuality, seems clear enough 
when we take into account the double and final disproof 
of his imaginary identity with Marlowe, which Mr. Dyce 
has put forward with such unanswerable certitude. He 
is a clumsy and coarse-fingered plagiarist from that poet, 
and his stolen jewels of expression look so grossly out of 
place in the homely setting of his usual style that they 
seem transmuted from real to sham. On the other hand, 
he is of all the Pre-Shakespeareans known to us incom- 
parably the truest, the richest, the most powerful and 
original humourist; one indeed without a second on that 
ground, for "the rest are nowhere." — Swinburne, Al- 
gernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 124. 



It will be seen that the element of Intrigue, of Situation, 
predominates in this play, and its instrumentality is Dis- 
guise. The Romanic origin and coloring are observable 
in the Italian names, scenery, location, manners — in its 
Italian form generally. But the Teutonic element of 
character also makes a beginning. It is, however, rude 
and simple; it does not show the fine and detailed por- 
traiture which will hereafter be developed; there is a 



I 1 6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

single, dominant trait without relief. The product is un- 
ripe and uncouth in some respects, yet at the bottom the 
procedure is true — the retribution of the deed is the 
fundamental principle. The conviction and the method 
of the Master thus peer out in his earliest works. . . . 
The question whether it was written — wholly, partially, 
or not at all — by Shakespeare, is a matter of minor im- 
portance; the play remains exactly the same; hence a just 
criticism of it, as a whole, could not be changed by chang- 
ing its authorship. There it stands in the book, there it 
belongs, and there it will remain, for it is an organic 
link in that series called the works of William Shake- 
speare. — Snider, Denton Jaques, 1887, The Shake- 
spearian Drama, The Comedies, pp. 99, 100. 



I. — If the author of "The Taming of a Shrew" was 
not William Shakespeare, he must have been a man ac- 
quainted with Stratford-on-Avon, with Wilmecote, with 
the Sly family, and with the tinker himself. Is it prob- 
able that two authors should exist having a cognizance of 
all these facts? 2. — If the author of the older comedy 
was not Shakespeare, the latter must have pirated an 
enormous quantity of lines and scenes from some other 
man, a fact which would not have escaped the notice of 
those who were ever ready to ridicule and censure him. 
But there is nothing on record to prove that he was ever 
criticised unfavorably for his production. 3. — Burby in 
1606-7 sold three plays to Ling, all of which were then 
recognized as Shakespeare's, and one of them was the 
older comedy. Burby's transactions were honorable, and 
he would scarcely have foisted a counterfeit production 
upon his buyer. 4. — If the play as it now stands was 
not written before 1609 and after November 19th, 1607, 



HENRY IV., PART I. WJ 

all the contemporary evidence of Greene, Dekker, Hens- 
lowe, Kyd, Beaumont, Fletcher, and Rowlands must be 
considered as worthless; we must assign an earlier date 
to "Hamlet" than the one now usually received; and we 
must ignore the remarkable circumstance that Smethwick 
bought the old play in 1607, and lent the proprietors of 
the first Folio an improved version of it in 1622 or 1623. 
— Frey, Albert R., 1888, Bankside Shakespeare^ vol. 
II, Taming of the Shrew, Introduction, p. 37. 



He took very lightly this piece of task-work, executed, 
it would seem, to the order of his fellow-players. In 
point of diction and metre it is much less highly finished 
than others of his youthful comedies; but if we compare 
the Shakespearian play (in whose title the Shrew receives 
the definite instead of the indefinite article) point by 
point with the original, we obtain an invaluable glimpse 
into Shakespeare's comic, as formerly into his tragic, 
workshop. Few examples are so instructive as this. — 
Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Criti- 
cal Study, vol. I, p. 45. 



HENRY IV., PART I 

1596-97 

The I History of [ Henrie the | Fovrth; | With the 
battell at Shrewsburie, | betweene the King and Lord \ 
Henry Percy, surnamed | Henrie Hotspur of | the North. 
I With the humorous conceits of Sir \ John Falstalffe. | at 
London, | Printed by P. S. for Andrew Wise, dwelling | 
in Paules Churchyard, at the signe of | the Angell. 1598. 
— Title Page of First Edition, 1598. 



Il8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

December 31. — In Paul's Church-yard I bought the 
play of ''Henry the Fourth," and so went to the new 
Theatre and saw it acted; but my expectation being too 
great, it did not please me, as otherwise I believe it would; 
and my having a book, I believe did spoil it a little. — 
Pepys, Samuel, 1660, Diary and Correspondence. 



John Fastolfe, Knight. . . . The Stage hath been 
overbold with his memory, making him a Thrasonical 
Pufif, and emblem of Mock-valour. True it is. Sir John 
Oldcastle did first bear the brunt of the one, being made 
the make-sport in all Plays for a Coward. It is easily 
known out of what purse this plack peny came; the Pa- 
pists railing on him for a Heretick, and therefore he must 
also be a Coward, though indeed he was a man of arms, 
every inch of him, and as valiant as any in his age. Now 
as I am glad that Sir John Oldcastle is put out, so I am 
sorry that Sir John Fastolfe is put in, to relieve his mem- 
ory in this base service, to be the anvil for every dull wit 
to strike upon. Nor is our Comedian excusable, by some 
alteration of his name, writing him Sir John Falstafe 
(and making him the property of pleasure for King Henry 
the Fifth, to abuse), seeing the vicinity of sounds intrench 
on the memory of that worthy Knight, and few do heed 
the inconsiderable difference in spelling of their name. — 
Fuller, Thomas, 1662, The Worthies of England, ed. 
Nichols, vol. 11, p. 131. 



As to the Comical part, 'tis certainly our Author's own 
Invention; and the Character of Sir John Falstajj, is 
owned by Mr. Dryden, to be the best of Comical Charac- 
ters: and the Author himself had so good an Opinion of 
it, that he continued it in no less than four Plays. This 



HENRY IV., PART I. I I9 

part used to be play'd by Mr. Lacy, and never fail'd of 
universal applause. — Langbaine, Gerard, 1691, An 
Account of the English Dramatick Poets, p. 456. 



I cannot help thinking, there is more of contrivance 
and care in his execution of this play, than in almost any 
he has written. It is a more regular drama than his 
other historical plays, less charged with absurdities, and 
less involved in confusion. — Montagu, Elizabeth, 1769, 
Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakes pear, p. loi. 



He is a man at once young and old, enterprising and 
fat, a dupe and a wit, harmless and wicked, weak in prin- 
ciple and resolute by constitution, cowardly in appear- 
ance and brave in reality, a knave without malice, a liar 
without deceit, and a knight, a gentleman, and a soldier 
without either dignity, decency, or honor. This is a 
character which, though it may be decompounded, could 
not, I believe, have been formed, nor the ingredients of 
it duly mingled, upon any receipt whatever. It required 
the hand of Shakspeare himself to give to every partic- 
ular part a relish of the whole, and of the whole to every 
particular part — alike the same incongruous, identical 
Falstaff, whether to the grave Chief-justice he vainly 
talks of his youth and offers to caper for a thousand, or 
cries to Mrs. Doll, ''I am oldl" "I am old!" although 
she is seated on his lap, and he is courting her for busses. 
— MoRGANN, Maurice, i 777-1825, Essay on the Dra- 
matic Character of Sir John Falsta^. 



It is confessed, by all the world, that there is an uncom- 
mon force and versatility in the mirth of Falstaff which 



120 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

is superior to all that dramatic poetry has hitherto in- 
vented. — Davies, Thomas, 1784, Dramatic MicellanieSf 
vol. I, p. 237. 

If Shakespear's fondness for the ludicrous sometimes 
led to faults in his tragedies (which was not often the 
case) he has made us amends by the character of Fal- 
staff. This is perhaps the most substantial comic char- 
acter that ever was invented. Sir John carries a most 
portly presence in the mind's eye; and in him, not to 
speak it profanely, "we behold the fulness of the spirit 
of wit and humour bodily." We are as well acquainted 
with his person as his mind, and his jokes come upon us 
with double force and relish from the quantity of flesh 
through which they make their way, as he shakes his 
fat sides with laughter, or "lards the lean earth as he 
walks along." Other comic characters seem, if we ap- 
proach and handle them, to resolve themselves into air, 
"into thin air;" but this is embodied and palpable to 
the grossest apprehension: it lies "three fingers deep upon 
the ribs," it plays about the lungs and diaphragm with 
all the force of animal enjoyment. His body is like a 
good estate to his mind, from which he receives rents 
and revenues of profit and pleasure in kind, according 
to its extent and the richness of the soil. Wit is often a 
meagre substitute for pleasurable sensation; an effusion 
of spleen and petty spite at the comforts of others, from 
feeling none in itself. Falstaff's wit is an emanation of a 
fine constitution; an exuberance of good-humour and 
good-nature; an overflowing of his love of laughter and 
good-fellowship; a giving vent to his heart's ease, and over- 
contentment with himself and others. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters of Shakespear's Plays, p. 133. 



HENR Y IV., PAR T I, 121 

As an historical portrait, is not only unlike the original, 
but misleading and unjust in essential points of charac- 
ter. — Tyler, James Endell, 1838, Henry of Mon- 
mouth, vol. I, p. 356. 

"Henry IV. Part ist," may challenge the world to 
produce another more original and rich in characters: the 
whole zodiac of theatrical genius has no constellation 
with so many bright and fixed stars of the first magnitude 
as are here grouped together. — Campbell, Thomas, 
1838, ed. Shakspeare's Plays, Moxon ed.. Life. 



Shakespeare has indeed scarcely written another play 
of such fulness and diversity in fascinating and sharply 
delineated characters, bearing at the same time such a 
native stamp, and interwoven with a subject so national, 
and so universally interesting — a play, in fact, of such 
manifold and powerful force of attraction. — Gervinus, 
G. G., 1849-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bunnetty 
P- 299- 

This big pot-bellied fellow, a coward, a jester, a brawler, 
a drunkard, a lewd rascal, a pothouse poet, is one of 
Shakspeare's favourites. The reason is, that his manners 
are those of pure nature, and Shakspeare's mind is con- 
genial with his own. — Taine, H. A., 1871, History of 
English Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. 1, bk. ii, ch. iv, p. 
323- 

As to Hotspur, who can help liking him? With all 
his hot-headedness and petulance, his daring and his 
boasting,, his humour with his wife, his scorn of that 
scented courtier, his lashing himself into a rage with 



122 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Henry the Fourth, his keenness at a bargain (North- 
country to a T), his hatred of music, his love of his crop- 
eared roan. Yet he is passion's slave, the thrall of every 
temper and v^him. Himself and his own glory are really 
his gods, as at his death he says. What is his native 
land, what is England's weal, to him? Things to be 
sacrificed because his temper's crossed. One third to 
Wales, to England's foe, one third to himself, and but 
one third to Richard's rightful heir. In one sense. 
Hotspur is Kate the Shrew, in armour, and a man. But 
how he lives in the play, and starts from the printed 
page! — FuRNivALL, Frederick James, 1877, ed. The 
Leopold Shakspere. 

He was a great Artist, and, as such, distinguished be- 
tween the temporary and permanent, between the non- 
essential and essential, traits of human character. Had 
his intention in creating Falstaff been solely to caricature 
a religious sect, Falstaflf would have passed away with 
Puritanism. He still lives, and to-day is as perfect an 
impersonation of wit as ever, and appeals to our sense 
of humor as much as he did to that of Shakespeare's 
contemporaries. He will ever remain the most splendid 
manifestation of Shakespeare's genius in the realm of 
Comedy. — Fleming, William H., 1890, Bankside Shake- 
speare, vol. XII, The First Part of Henry the Fourth, 
Introduction, p. 9. 

There is no such perfect conception of the selfish sen- 
sualist in literature, and the conception is all the more 
perfect because of the wit that lights up the vice of Fal- 
staff, a cold light without tenderness, for he was not a 
good fellow, though a merry companion. I am not sure 



HENRY IV., PART II. 1 23 

but I should put him beside Hamlet, and on the same 
level, for the merit of his artistic completeness, and at 
one time I much preferred him, or at least his humor. 
— HowELLS, William Dean, 1895, My Literary Pas- 
sions, p. 72. 



HENRY IV., PART II 

1597-98 

The I Second part of Henrie | the fourth, continuing to 
his death, | and coronation of Henrie \ the fift. | With the 
humours of sir John Fal- | stajje, and swaggering \ Pistoll. 
\ As it hath been sundrie times publikely \ acted by the 
right honourable, the Lord | Chamberlaine his seruants. 
I Written by William Shakespeare.] London | Printed by 
V. S. for Andrew Wise, and | William Aspley. | 1600. — 
Title Page of First Edition, 1600. 



I fancy every reader, when he ends this play, cries out 
with Desdemona, "O most lame and impotent conclu- 
sion!" . . . None of Shakspeare's plays are more read 
than the First and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. 
Perhaps no author has ever in two plays afforded so much 
delight. The great events are interesting, for the fate of 
kingdoms depends upon them; the slighter occurrences are 
diverting, and, except one or two, sufficiently probable; 
the incidents are multiplied with wonderful fertility of 
invention, and the characters diversified with the utmost 
nicety of discernment, and the profoundest skill in the 
nature of man. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Ob- 
servations on Shakspeare^s Plays. 



124 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

It having been written, as the external and internal 
evidence concur in showing, not very long after the first 
part, when the author's mind was filled with the charac- 
ters, story, and the spirit of that, the two together have 
the unity of a single drama. It is, however, inferior to 
its predecessor as a work of dramatic art, though, in my 
judgment, not at all so as a work of genius. It is not as 
perfect as the other as an historical tragi-comedy, as on 
its tragic side it has a less vivid and sustained interest, 
and approaches in those scenes more to the dramatized 
chronicle; in fact, adhering much more rigidly to his- 
torical authority, and deviating from it very little except 
in compressing into connected continuous actions events 
really separated by years. — Verplanck, Gulian Crom- 
MELIN, 1844-47, ^^' The Illustrated Shakespeare. 



The character of Sir John FalstafT is, I should think, 
the most witty and humorous combined that ever was 
portrayed. So palpably is the person presented to the 
mind's eye, that not only do we give him a veritable 
location in history, but the others, the real characters in 
the period, compared with him, appear to be the ideal- 
ised people, and invented to be his foils and contrasts. 
As there is no romance like the romance of real life, so 
no real-life character comes home to our apprehensions 
and credulities like the romance of Sir John Falstaff. 
He is one grand identity. His body is fitted for his mind 
— bountiful, exuberant, and luxurious; and his mind was 
well appointed for his body — being rich, ample, sensual, 
sensuous, and imaginative. The very fatness of his per- 
son is the most felicitous correspondent to the unlimited 
opulence of his imagination. — Clarke, Charles Cow- 
den, 1863, Shakespeare-Characters, p. 431. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, 12$ 

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 

1598-99 

A I Most pleasaunt and | excellent conceited Co- [ 
medie, of Syr John Falstajje, and the | merrie Wiues of 
Windsor. \ Entermixed with sundrie | variable and pleas- 
ing humors of Syr Hugh \ the Welch Knight, lustice 
Shallow, and his | wise Cousin M. Slender. \ With the 
swaggering vaine of Auncient | Pistoll, and Corporall 
Nym. I By William Shakespeare \ As it hath bene diuers 
times Acted by the right Honorable | my Lord Cham- 
berlaines servants Both before her | Maiestie, and else- 
where. I LONDON I Printed by T. C. for Arthur lohnson; 
and are to be sold at | his shop in Powles Church-yard, 
at the signe of the | Flower de Leuse and the Crowne. 
I 1602. — Title Page of First Edition, 1602. 



But Shakespear's play in fourteen days was writ, 

And in that space to make all just and fit, 

Was an attempt surpassing human wit. 

Yet our great Shakespear's matchless muse was such 

None ever in so small time perform 'd so much. 

— Dennis, John, 1702, The Comical Gallant. 



The conduct of this drama is deficient; the action 
begins and ends often before the conclusion, and the 
different parts might change places without inconvenience; 
but its general power, that power by which all works of 
genius shall finally be tried, is such, that perhaps it never 
yet had reader or spectator, who did not think it too soon 
at end. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations 
on Shakspeare's Plays. 



126 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The ''Merry Wives of Windsor" is no doubt a very 
amusing play, with a great deal of humour, character, 
and nature in it: but we should have liked it much better 
if any one else had been the hero of it, instead of Falstaff. 
We could have been contented if Shakespear had not 
been "commanded to show the knight in love." Wits 
and philosophers, for the most part, do not shine in that 
character; and Sir John himself by no means comes off 
with flying colours. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, 
Characters of Shakespear^s Plays, p. 229. 



In the system of intrigued comedy, the ''Merry Wives 
of Windsor " may be said to be almost perfect in its com- 
position; it presents a true picture of manners; the denoue- 
ment is as piquant as it is well-prepared; and it is assur- 
edly one of the merriest works in the whole comic reper- 
tory. — GuizoT, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, 
Shakspeare and His Times, p. 85. 



"The Merry Wives of Windsor" is the work of Shak- 
speare in which he has best displayed English manners; 
for though there is something of this in the historical 
plays, yet we rarely see in them such a picture of actual 
life as comedy ought to represent. ... In this play the 
English gentleman in age and youth, is brought upon the 
stage, slightly caricatured in Shallow, and far more so in 
Slender. The latter, indeed, is a perfect satire, and I 
think was so intended, on the brilliant youth of the prov- 
inces, such as we may believe it to have been before 
the introduction of newspapers and turnpike roads; awk- 
ward and boobyish among civil people, but at home in 
rude sports, and proud of exploits at which the town 
would laugh, yet perhaps with more courage and good- 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. I27 

nature than the laughers. No doubt can be raised that 
the family of Lucy is ridiculed in Shallow; but those who 
have recourse to the old fable of the deer-stealing, forget 
that Shakspeare never lost sight of his native county, and 
went, perhaps, every summer, to Stratford, It is not 
impossible that some arrogance of the provincial squires 
toward a player, whom, though a gentleman by birth 
and the recent grant of arms, they might not reckon such, 
excited his malicious wit to those admirable delineations. 
— Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Litera- 
ture of Europe, pt. iii, ch. vi, par. 38. 



There is a prodigal and glorious throng of incident and 
character in this very admirable comedy: for variety, and 
broad, unceasing effect, it stands perhaps unrivalled. 
Each individual member of the breathing group — the 
Wives, the Husbands, the Doctor, Parson, mine Host of 
the Garter, Shallow, Slender ; every character, in short, 
from Falstaff and his satellites to Simple and Rugby — 
stands out in the clearest light, and assists in reflecting 
the sunshine of the author's intellect for the delight and 
instruction of the reader or spectator. It has been said, 
and truly, that Falstaff, in this play, is not so unctuous 
and irresistible as in the two parts of "Henry IV.; " but 
if the Falstaff of Windsor must succumb to him of Gads- 
hill and Shrewsbury, it should in fairness be added, 

"Nought by himself can be his conqueror." 

Even the gullibility of the unfortunate old boy (as drawn 
forth of him by the witcheries of the wicked wives) places 
him in an amiable point of view, and raises a new sensa- 
tion in his favour. — Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 
1844-47, ^^^ Illustrated Shakespeare, vol. 11. 



128 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

That Queen Bess should have desired to see Falstaff 
making love proves her to have been, as she was, a gross- 
minded old baggage. Shakespeare has evaded the diffi- 
culty with great skill. He knew that Falstaff could not 
be in love; and has mixed but a little, a very little, pruritus 
with his fortune-hunting courtship. But the Falstaff of 
''The Merry Wives" is not the Falstaff of "Henry IV." 
It is a big-bellied impostor, assuming his name and style, 
or, at best, it is Falstaff in dotage. The Mrs. Quickly 
of Windsor is not mine hostess of the Boar's Head; but 
she is a very pleasant, busy, good-natured, unprincipled 
old woman, whom it is impossible to be angry with. 
Shallow should not have left his seat in Gloucestershire 
and his magisterial duties. Ford's jealousy is of too 
serious a complexion for the rest of the play. The merry 
wives are a delightful pair. Methinks I see them, with 
their comely, middle-aged visages, their dainty white ruffs 
and toys, their half-witch-like conic hats, their full farth- 
ingales, their neat though not over-slim waists, their 
housewifely keys, their girdles, their sly laughing looks, 
their apple-red cheeks, their brows the lines whereon look 
more like the work of mirth than years. And sweet 
Anne Page — she is a pretty little creature whom one 
would like to take on one's knee. — Coleridge, Hart- 
ley, 1849-51, Essays and Marginalia, vol. u, pp. 133, 
134- 



Is one of those delightfully happy plays of Shakespeare, 
beaming with sunshine and good humour, that makes 
one feel the better, the lighter, and the happier, for hav- 
ing seen or read it. — Clarke, Charles Cowden, 1863, 
Shakespeare-Characters, p. 141. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 1 29 

"The Merry Wives of Windsor" is a play written 
expressly for the barbarian aristocrats with their hatred 
of ideas, their insensibility to beauty, their hard efficient 
manners, and their demand for impropriety. The good 
folk of London liked to see a prince or a duke, and they 
liked to see him made gracious and generous. These 
royal and noble persons at Windsor wished to see the 
interior life of country gentlemen of the middle class, 
and to see the women of the middle class with their 
excellent bourgeois morals, and rough, jocose ways. 
The comedy of hearing a French physician and a Welsh 
parson speak broken English was appreciated by these 
spectators, who uttered their mother-tongue with exem- 
plary accent. Shakspere did not make a grievance of 
his task. He threw himself into it with spirit, and de- 
spatched his work quickly — in fourteen days, if we 
accept the tradition. But Falstaff he was not prepared 
to recall from heaven or from hell. He dressed up a fat 
rogue, brought forward for the occasion from the back 
premises of the poet's imagination, in Falstaff's clothes ; 
he allowed persons and places and times to jumble them- 
selves up as they pleased; he made it impossible for the 
most laborious nineteenth-century critic to patch on ''The 
Merry Wives " to ''Henry IV." But the Queen and her 
court laughed as the buck-basket was emptied into the 
ditch, no more suspecting that its gross lading was not 
the incomparable jester of Eastcheap than Ford suspected 
the woman with a great beard to be other than the veri- 
table Dame Pratt. — Dowden, Edward, 1875-80, Shak- 
spere, A Critical Study of His Mind and Art, p. 329. 



The task of presenting him so shorn of his beams, so 
much less than archangel (of comedy) ruined, and the 



I30 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

excess of (humorous) glory obscured, would hardly, we 
cannot but think and feel, have spontaneously suggested 
itself to Shakespeare as a natural or eligible aim for the 
fresh exercise of his comic genius. To exhibit Falstaff 
as throughout the whole course of five acts a credulous 
and baffled dupe, one ''easier to be played on than a pipe," 
was not really to reproduce him at all. The genuine 
Falstaff could no more have played such a part than the 
genuine Petruchio could have filled such an one as was 
assigned him by Fletcher in the luckless hour when that 
misguided poet undertook to continue the subject and to 
correct the moral of the next comedy in our catalogue of 
Shakespeare's. ''The Tamer Tamed" is hardly less con- 
sistent or acceptable as a sequel to the "Taming of the 
Shrew" than the "Merry Wives of Windsor" as a sup- 
plement to "King Henry IV.:" and no conceivable com- 
parison could more forcibly convey how broad and deep 
is the gulf of incongruity which divides them. — Swin- 
burne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shake- 
speare, p. 116. 

This play supplements the two parts of "King Henry 
IV." by showing what Falstaff stands for; the temptation 
of the flesh — the world, the flesh and the devil — backed 
to the uttermost with good wit and good humour, that 
have force to mislead our youth; here brought into rela- 
tion with a simple, healthy womanhood. Mrs. Page and 
Mrs. Ford are not heroines with unexampled powers, but 
ordinary women, cheerful and right-minded, to whose 
minds Falstaff is as nothing. Quick parts, bent upon ill, 
fail in a wrestle with the mother-wit of plain folk who 
live loyally. — Morley, Henry, 1893, English Writers, 
vol. X, p. 300. 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. I31 

It has failed to find favour with some, owing to a not 
ignoble dislike at seeing the degradation or discomfiture 
of Falstaff, but it must be remembered that Shakespeare, 
though never cruel with the morbid cruelty of the modern 
pessimist, is always perfectly awake to the facts of life. 
And, as a matter of fact, the bowls that Falstaff played 
involve the rubbers that are here depicted. It has also 
been a common saying that the play is little better than a 
farce. If so, it can only be said that Shakespeare very 
happily took or made the opportunity of showing how a 
farce also can pass under the species of eternity. How 
infinitely do the most farcical of the characters, such as 
Sir Hugh and Dr. Caius, excel the mere ''Vices" of ear- 
lier playwrights! Who but Shakespeare had — we may 
almost say who but Shakespeare has — made an immor- 
tal thing of a mere ass, a mere puff-ball of foolish froth 
like Slender? If Chaucer had had the dramatic as he 
had the narrative faculty and atmosphere, he might have 
done Mrs. Quickly, who is a very near relative, in some- 
what lower life, of the Wife of Bath, and rapidly ripening 
for her future experiences in Eastcheap. But Shallow is 
above even Chaucer, as are also the subtle differentiation 
between Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford, and the half-dozen 
strokes which her creator judged sufficient for sweet Anne 
Page. As for Falstaff, it is mistaken affection which 
thinks him degraded, or "translated" Bottom-fashion. 
He is even as elsewhere, though under an unluckier star. 
— Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short History of Eng- 
lish Literature, p. 323. 



132 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



HENRY V 

1599 

The I CRONICLE | History of Henry the fift, | With 
his battell fought at Agin Court in | France. Togither 
with Auntient \ Pistoll. \ As it hath bene sundry times 
playd by the Right honorable \ the Lord Chamberlaine his 
seruants. \ LONDON. | Printed by Thomas Creede, for 
Tho. Milling- | ton, and lohn Busby. And are to be | 
sold at his house in Carter Lane, next | the Powle head. 
I 1600. — Title Page of First Edition, 1600. 



The popular and comic parts of the drama, although 
the originality of Falstaff's wit is absent, contains scenes 
of perfect natural gayety; and the Welshman Fluellen is 
a model of that serious, ingenious, inexhaustible, unex- 
pected, and jocose military talkativeness, which excites at 
once our laughter and our sympathy. — Guizot, Fran- 
cois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, Shakspeare and His 
Times, p. 321. 

This drama is full of singularly beautiful detached pas- 
sages: for example, the reflections of the King upon cere- 
mony, — the description of the deaths of York and Suf- 
folk, — the glorious speech of the King before the battle, 

— the chorus of the fourth act, — remarkable illustrations 
of Shakspere's power as a descriptive poet. Nothing can 
be finer, also, than the commonwealth of bees in the first 
act. It is full of the most exquisite imagery and music. 
The art employed in transforming the whole scene of the 
hive into a resemblance of humanity is a perfect study 

— every successive object, as it is brought forward, being 



HENRY V. 133 

invested with its characteristic attribute. — Knight, 
Charles, 1849, Studies of Shakspere, bk. iv, ch. iii, p. 
185. 

How popular after his old fashion, and at the same 
time how sublime, in his encouragement to the battle! 
How calm his last words to the French herald! How far 
is he from being over-hasty in giving credit to the victory! 
When he hears of the touching death of the noble York, 
how near is he to tears! and at the same moment, alarmed 
by a new tumult, how steeled to a bloody command! 
how impatiently furious at the last resistance! and at the 
moment when victory decides for him, how pious and how 
humble! And again, a short time after this solemn ele- 
vation of mind, he concludes his joke with Williams, 
careful even then that no harm should result from it. 
The poet has continued in the fifth act to show us to the 
very last the many-sided nature of the king. The ter- 
rible warrior is transformed into the merry bridegroom, 
the humorous vein again rises within him; yet he is not 
so much in love with his happiness, or so happy in his 
love, that in the midst of his wooing, and with all his 
jests and repartee, he would relax the smallest article of 
the peace which his policy had designed. — Gervinus, 
G. G., 1849-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bunnett, 
P' 346. 

As the noblest glories of England are presented in this 
play, so it presents Shakspere's ideal of active, practical, 
heroic manhood. If Hamlet exhibits the dangers and 
weakness of the contemplative nature, and Prospero, its 
calm and its conquest, Henry exhibits the utmost great- 
ness which the active nature can attain. ... In this 



134 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

play no character except Henry greatly interested Shak- 
spere, unless it be the Welsh Fluellen, whom he loves 
(as Scott loved the Baron of Bradwardine) for his real 
simplicity underlying his apparatus of learning, and his 
touching faith in the theory of warfare. — Dowden, 
Edward, 1877, Shakspere, {Literature Primers)^ pp. 100, 

lOI. 

He proceeded to have a chronicle in hand to the close 
of his career, but he preserved for this class of work the 
laxity of evolution and lack of dramatic design which he 
had learned in his youth; and thus, side by side with plays 
the prodigious harmony of which Shakespeare alone could 
have conceived or executed, we have an epical fragment, 
like ''Henry V.," which is less a drama by one particular 
poet, than a fold of the vast dramatic tapestry woven to 
the glory of England by the combined poetic patriotism 
of the Elizabethans. Is the whole of what we read here 
implicit Shakespeare, or did another hand combine with 
his to decorate this portion of the gallery? It is impos- 
sible to tell, and the reply, could it be given, would have 
no great critical value. "Henry V." is not "Othello." 
— Gosst:, Edmund, 1897, Short History of Modern Eng- 
glish Literature, p. 107. 



"Henry V." is not one of Shakespeare's best plays, 
but it is one of his most amiable. He here shows himself 
not as the almost superhuman genius, but as the English 
patriot, whose enthusiasm is as beautiful as it is simple, 
and whose prejudices, even, are not unbecoming. The 
play not only points backward to the greatest period of 
England's past, but forward to King James, who, as the 
Protestant son of the Catholic Mary Stuart, was to put 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NO THING. 1 3 5 

an end to religious persecutions, and who, as a Scotch- 
man and a supporter of the Irish policy of Essex, was for 
the first time to show the world not only a sturdy England, 
but a powerful Great Britain, — Brandes, George, 1898, 
William Shakespeare^ A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 243. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

1599 
Much adoe about | Nothing. | As it hath been sundrie 
times puhlickely \ acted by the right honourable, the Lord 
I Chamberlaine his seruants. | Written by William Shake- 
speare. I London | Printed by V. S. for Andrew Wise, 
and I William Aspley. | 1600. — Title Page of First 
Edition, 1600. 

This play is so witty, so playful, so abundant in strong 
writing, and rich humour, that it has always attracted 
universal applause. The beauties it contains are innu- 
merable, they are a cluster, and are set so thick that they 
scarcely afford one another relief, and yet the best critic 
would find it difficult to say which of them ought to be 
displaced. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, A Complete His- 
tory of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 80, 



Perhaps that middle point of comedy was never more 
nicely hit in which the ludicrous blends with the tender, 
and our follies, turning round against themselves in sup- 
port of our affections, retain nothing but their humanity. 
— Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters of Shakes peafs 
Plays, p. 214. 



136 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The interest in the plot is always in fact on account of 
the characters, not vice versa, as in almost all other 
writers; the plot is a mere canvas and no more. Hence 
arises the true justification of the same stratagem being 
used in regard to Benedick and Beatrice, — the vanity 
in each being alike. Take away from the ''Much Ado 
About Nothing" all that which is not indispensable to 
the plot, either as having little to do with it, or, at best, 
like Dogberry and his comrades, forced into the service, 
when any other less ingeniously absurd watchmen and 
night-constables would have answered the mere necessities 
of the action; — take away Benedick, Beatrice, Dogberry, 
and the reaction of the former on the character of Hero, 
— and what will remain ? In other writers the main 
agent of the plot is always the prominent character; in 
Shakspere it is so, or is not so, as the character is in 
itself calculated, or not calculated, to form the plot. Don 
John is the main-spring of the plot of this play; but he 
is merely shown and then withdrawn.' — Coleridge, 
Samuel Taylor, 181 8, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, 
ed. Ashe, p. 239. 

Shakspeare has exhibited in Beatrice a spirited and 
faithful portrait of the fine lady of his own time. The 
deportment, language, manners, and allusions, are those 
of a particular class in a particular age; but the individ- 
ual and dramatic character which forms the ground- 
work, is strongly discriminated; and being taken from 
general nature, belongs to every age. In Beatrice, high 
intellect and high animal spirits meet, and excite each 
other like fire and air. In her wit, (which is brilliant 
without being imaginative,) there is a touch of insolence, 
not unfrequent in women when the wit predominates over 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. I 37 

reflection and imagination. In her temper, too, there is 
a slight infusion of the termagant; and her satirical hu- 
mour plays with such an unrespective levity over all 
subjects alike, that it required a profound knowledge of 
women to bring such a character within the pale of our 
sympathy. But Beatrice, though wilful, is not wayward; 
she is volatile, not unfeeling. She has not only an exu- 
berance of wit and gayety, but of heart, and soul, and 
energy of spirit; and is no more like the fine ladies of 
modern comedy, — whose wit consists in a temporary 
allusion, or a play upon words^ and whose petulance is 
displayed in a toss of the head, a flirt of the fan, or a 
flourish of the pocket handkerchief — than one of our 
modern dandies is like Sir Philip Sidney. In Beatrice, 
Shakspeare has contrived that the poetry of the character 
shall not only soften, but heighten its comic effect. — 
Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Characteristics 0} 
Women. 

Our interest in Claudio is secured by this blending of 
the moral elements in his nature; but the foundation for 
a comedy and for a comic character does not appear to 
lie either in him or in the whole action in which Claudio 
is implicated. If we separate it from the rest, we shall 
retain a painful and not a cheerful impression. — Gervi^ 
nus, G. G., 1849-62, Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bun- 
nett, p. 414. 

If it is proverbially impossible to determine by selec- 
tion the greatest work of Shakespeare, it is easy enough to 
decide on the date and the name of his most perfect 
comic masterpiece. For absolute power of composition, 
for faultless balance and blameless rectitude of design. 



138 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

there is unquestionably no creation of his hand that will 
bear comparison with ''Much Ado About Nothing." — 
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, p. 153. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 

1600 

Of this play the fable is wild and pleasing. I know not 
how the ladies will approve the facility with which both 
Rosiland and Celia give their hearts. To Celia much 
may be forgiven for the heroism of her friendship. The 
character of Jacques is natural and well preserved. The 
comic dialogue is very sprightly, with less mixture of low 
buffoonery than in some other plays; and the graver part 
is elegant and harmonious. By hastening to the end of 
his work, Shakspeare suppressed the dialogue between the 
usurper and the hermit, and lost an opportunity of ex- 
hibiting a moral lesson in which he might have found 
matter worthy of his highest powers. — Johnson, Samuel, 
1768, General Observations on Shakspeare' s Plays. 



We make no scruple to affirm that ''As You Like It" 
will afford considerable instruction from attentive perusal, 
with great addition of pleasure from adequate representa- 
tion. — Gentleman, Francis, 1770, Dramatic Censor , 
vol. I, p. 478. 

Shakespear has here converted the forest of Arden into 
another Arcadia, where they "fleet the time carelessly, as 
they did in the golden world." It is the most ideal of 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 1 39 

any of this author's plays. It is a pastoral drama, in 
which the interest arises more out of the sentiments and 
characters than out of the actions or situations. It is 
not what is done, but what is said, that claims our atten- 
tion. Nursed in solitude, "under the shade of melan^ 
choly boughs," the imagination grows soft and delicate, 
and the wit runs riot in idleness, like a spoiled child, that 
is never sent to school. Caprice and fancy reign and 
revel here, and stern necessity is banished to the court. 
The mild sentiments of humanity are strengthened with 
thought and leisure; the echo of the cares and noise of 
the world strikes upon the ear of those "who have felt 
them knowingly," softened by time and distance. "They 
hear the tumult, and are still. The very air of the place 
seems to breathe a spirit of philosophical poetry: to stir 
the thoughts, to touch the heart with pity, as the drowsy 
forest rustles to the sighing gale." — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters 0} Shaks pearls Plays, p. 214. 



Rosalind is like a compound of essences, so volatile in 
their nature, and so exquisitely blended, that on any at- 
tempt to analyze them, they seem to escape us. To 
what else shall we compare her, all-enchanting as she is? 
— to the silvery summer clouds, which even while we 
gaze on them, shift their hues and forms, dissolving into 
air, and light, and rainbow showers ? — to the May- 
morning, flush with opening blossoms and roseate dews, 
and "charm of earliest birds?" — to some wild and 
beautiful melody, such as some shepherd boy might 
"pipe to Amarillis in the shade?" — to a mountain 
streamlet, now smooth as a mirror in which the skies 
may glass themselves, and anon leaping and sparkling in 
the sunshine — or rather to the very sunshine itself ? for 



140 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

so her genial spirit touches into life and beauty whatever 
it shines on! — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Char- 
acteristics of Women. 



The sweet and sportive temper of Shakspeare, though 
it never deserted him, gave way to advancing years, 
and to the mastering force of serious thought. What 
he read we know but very imperfectly ; yet, in the 
last years of this century, when five and thirty sum- 
mers had ripened his genius, it seems that he must have 
transfused much of the wisdom of past ages into his 
own all-combining mind. In several of the historical 
plays, in the " Merchant of Venice," and especially in 
" As You Like It," the philosophic eye, turned inward 
on the mysteries of human nature, is more and more 
characteristic ; and we might apply to the last comedy 
the bold figure that Coleridge has less appropriately 
employed as to the early poems, that " the creative 
power^ and the intellectual energy wrestle as in a war- 
embrace." In no other play, at least, do we find the 
bright imagination and fascinating grace of Shaks- 
peare's youth so mingled with the thoughtfulness of 
his maturer age. . . . 

Few comedies of Shakspeare are more generally pleas- 
ing, and its manifold improbabilities do not much affect 
us in perusal. The brave, injured Orlando, the sprightly 
but modest Rosalind, the faithful Adam, the reflecting 
Jaques, the serene and magnanimous Duke, interest us 
by turns, though the play is not so well managed as to 
condense our sympathy, and direct it to the conclusion. 
— Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Litera- 
ture 0} Europe, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 51. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. I4I 

The poet, in conceiving this fine work, first generated a 
lofty ideal. His aim was to set forth the power of pa- 
tience as the panacea for earth's ills and the injustice of 
fortune, and self-command as the condition without 
which the power would be inoperative. Neither this 
power nor its condition can be easily illustrated in the 
life of courts; but the sylvan life such as the banished 
Duke and his companions live in Arden, is favourable to 
both. In the contrast between the two states of life lies 
the charm of the play, and the reconciliation of these 
formal opposites is the fulfilment of its ideal. — Heraud, 
John A., 1865, Shakspere, His Inner Life as Intimated 
in his Works, p. 235. 

"As You Like It" is a caprice. Action there is none; 
interest barely; likelihood still less. And the whole is 
charming. — Taine, H. A., 1871, History of English 
Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. i, bk. ii, ch. iv, p. 343. 



Nor can it well be worth any man's while to say or to 
hear for the thousandth time that ''As You Like It" 
would be one of those works which prove, as Landor said 
long since, the falsehood of the stale axiom that no work 
of man's can be perfect, were it not for that one unlucky 
slip of the brush which has left so ugly a little smear in 
one corner of the canvas as the betrothal of Oliver to 
Celia; though, with all reverence for a great name and a 
noble memory, I can hardly think that matters were 
much mended in George Sand's adaptation of the play^ 
by the transference of her hand to Jaques. Once else- 
where, or twice only at the most, is any such other sacri- 
fice of moral beauty or spiritual harmony to the necessities 
and traditions of the stage discernible in all the world- 
• 



142 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

wide work of Shakespeare. — Swinburne, Algernon 
Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 151. 



Thus much may suffice to show that the Poet has here 
borrowed a good deal of excellent matter. With what 
judgment and art the borrowed matter was used by him 
can only be understood on a careful study of his work- 
manship. In no one of his comedies indeed has he drawn 
more freely from others; nor, I may add, is there any 
one wherein he has enriched his drawings more liberally 
from the glory of his own genius. To appreciate his 
wisdom as shown in what he left unused, one must read 
the whole of Lodge's novel. In that work we find no 
traces of Jaques, or Touchstone, or Audrey; nothing, in- 
deed, that could yield the slightest hint towards either of 
those characters. It scarce need be said that these super- 
addings are enough of themselves to transform the whole 
into another nature; pouring through all its veins a free 
and lively circulation of the most original wit and humour 
and poetry. — Hudson, Henry Norman, 1880, ed. Har- 
vard Shakespeare, vol. v, p. 6. 

Much as I have written, I feel how imperfectly I have 
brought out all that this delightful play has been and is to 
me. I can but hope that I have said enough to show why 
I gave my heart to Rosalind, and found an ever new de- 
light in trying to impersonate her. — Martin, Lady 
(Helena Faucit), 1884, On Some of Shakespeare's Female 
Characters, p. 355. 

One of the topmost things in Shakespeare, the master- 
piece of romantic comedy, one of the great type-dramas 
of the world. — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short 
History of English Literature, p. 325. 



TWELFTH NIGHT, 1 43 

TWELFTH NIGHT 

1601 

At our feast wee had a play called "Twelue Night, or 
What you Will," much like the Commedy of Errores, or 
Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and neere to that in 
Italian called Inganni. A good practise in it to make the 
Steward beleeve his Lady widdowe was in love with him, 
by counterfeyting a letter as from his Lady in generall 
termes, telling him what shee liked best in him, and pre- 
scribing his gesture in smiling, his apparaile, &c., and 
then when he came to practise making him beleeue they 
tooke him to be mad. — Manningham, John, 1601, 
Diary, Feb. 2, ed. Bruce, p. 18. 



January 6. — After dinner to the Duke's house, and 
there saw ''Twelfth-Night" acted well, though it be but 
a silly play, and not related at all to the name or day. 
— Pepys, Samuel, 1663, Diary and Correspondence. 



This is justly considered as one of the most delightful 
of Shakspear's comedies. It is full of sweetness and 
pleasantry. It is perhaps too good-natured for comedy. 
It has little satire, and no spleen. It aims at the ludi- 
crous rather than the ridiculous. It makes us laugh at 
the follies of mankind, not despise them, ai>d still less 
bear any ill-will towards them. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters of Shakspear^s Plays, p. 180. 



We may walk into that stately hall and think, — Here 
Shakspere's ''Twelfth Night" was acted in the Christmas 



144 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

of 1601; and here its exquisite poetry first fell upon the 
ear of some secluded scholar, and was to him as a fragrant 
flower blooming amidst the arid sands of his Bracton 
and his Fleta; and here its gentle satire upon the vain 
and the foolish penetrated into the natural heart of some 
grave and formal dispenser of justice, and made him 
look with tolerance, if not with sympathy, upon the mis- 
takes of less grave and formal fellow-men; and here its 
ever-gushing spirit of enjoyment, — of fun without mal- 
ice, of wit without grossness, of humour without extrava- 
gance, — taught the swaggering, roaring, overgrown boy, 
miscalled student, that there were higher sources of mirth 
than affrays in Fleet Street, or drunkenness in White- 
friars. Venerable Hall of the Middle Temple, thou art 
to our eyes more stately and more to be admired since we 
looked upon that entry in the Table-book of John Man- 
ningham! The Globe has perished, and so has the Black- 
friars. The works of the poet who made the names of 
these frail buildings immortal need no associations to 
recommend them; but it is yet pleasant to know that 
there is one locality remaining where a play of Shakspere 
was listened to by his contemporaries; and that play, 
"Twelfth Night." — Knight, Charles, 1849, Studies of 
Shakspere, bk. vii, ch. ii, p. 311. 



Is the purest and merriest comedy which Shakespeare 
has written. . . . And the piece in truth is constituted 
throughout to make a strong impression of the maddest 
mirth. Rightly conceived and acted by players who even 
in caricature do not miss the line of beauty, it has an 
incredible effect. — Gervinus, G. G., 1849-62, Shake- 
speare Commentaries, tr. Bunnctt, p. 439. 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 1 45 

The love of Viola is the sweetest and tenderest emotion 
that ever informed the heart of the purest and the most 
graceful of beings, with a spirit almost divine. Perhaps 
in the whole range of Shakespeare's poetry there is noth- 
ing which comes more unbidden into the mind, and always 
in connexion with some image of the ethereal beauty of 
the utterer, than Viola's celebrated speech to the Duke in 
her assumed garb of the page. — Clarke, Charles Cow- 
den, 1863, Shakespeare-Characters^ p. 196. 



Of all Shakespeare's Comedies, perhaps "Twelfth 
Night" is the most richly woven with various hues of 
love, serious and mock-heroic. The amorous threads 
take warmer shifting colours from their neighbourhood to 
the unmitigated remorseless merry-making of the harum- 
scarum old wag Sir Toby and his sparkling captain in 
mischief, the "most excellent devil of wit," Maria. Be- 
side their loud conviviality and pitiless fun the languish- 
ing sentiment of the cultivated love-lorn Duke stands out 
seven times refined, and goes with exquisite touch to the 
innermost sensibilities. — Minto, William, 1874-85, Char- 
acteristics of English Poets, p. 298. 



"Twelfth Night" is perhaps the most graceful and har- 
monious comedy Shakespeare ever wrote. It is certainly 
that in which all the notes the poet strikes, the note of 
seriousness and of raillery, of passion, of tenderness, and 
of laughter, blend in the richest and fullest concord. It 
is like a symphony in which no strain can be dispensed 
with, or like a picture veiled in a golden haze, into which 
all the colours resolve themselves. The play does not 
overflow with wit and gaiety like its predecessor; we feel 
that Shakespeare's joy of life has culminated and is about 



146 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

to pass over into melancholy; but there is far more unity 
in it than in ''As You Like It," and it is a great deal 
more dramatic. — Brandes, George, 1898, William 
Shakespeare^ A Critical Study, vol. 1, p. 273. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 

1601-2 

I cannot reconcile my heart to Bertram; a man noble 
without generosity, and young without truth; who married 
Helen as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate; when 
she is dead by his unkindness, sneaks home to a second 
marriage, is accused by a woman whom he has wronged, 
defends himself by falsehood, and is dismissed to happi- 
ness. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations on 
Shakspeare^s Plays 

''All's Well That Ends Well" is one of the most pleas- 
ing of our author's comedies. The interest is however 
more of a serious than of a comic nature. The character 
of Helen is one of great sweetness and delicacy. She is 
placed in circumstances of the most critical kind, and has 
to court her husband both as a virgin and a wife: yet the 
most scrupulous nicety of female modesty is not once 
violated. There is not one thought or action that ought 
to bring a blush into her cheeks, or that for a moment 
lessens her in our esteem. Perhaps the romantic attach- 
ment of a beautiful and virtuous girl to one placed above 
her hopes by the circumstances of birth and fortune, was 
never so exquisitely expressed as in the reflections which 
she utters when young Rousillon leaves his mother's house, 
under whose protection she has been brought up with 



ALVS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 1 47 

him, to repair to the French king's court. — Hazlitt, 
William, 1817-69, Characters of Shakspear's Flays, p. 
202. 

The comic scenes, and the general graceful ease and 
fluency of its diction, give an air of lightness and variety 
to the play that are wanting in the novel. The mere 
story is not productive of more effect in one than in the 
other, and the drama makes no pretensions to rank in 
the first order of excellence. But a value is conferred 
upon Shakspeare's performance beyond its dramatic merit, 
by its being the repository of much sententious wisdom, 
and numerous passages of remarkable elegance. A single 
speech of the king may be referred to as an instance of 
both, and Helena's description of her hopeless passion 
may be selected as exquisitely beautiful. — Skottowe, 
Augustine, 1824, Life of Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 142. 



Helena, as a woman, is more passionate than imagina- 
tive; and, as a character, she bears the same relation to 
Juliet that Isabel bears to Portia. There is. equal unity 
of purpose and effect, with much less of the glow of im- 
agery and the external colouring of poetry in the senti- 
ments, language and details. It is passion developed 
under its most profound and serious aspect; as in Isa- 
bella, we have the serious and the thoughtful, not the 
brilliant side of intellect. Both Helena and Isabel are 
distinguished by high mental powers, tinged with a mel- 
ancholy sweetness; but in Isabella the serious and ener- 
getic part of the character is founded in religious principle; 
in Helena it is founded in deep passion. There never 
was, perhaps, a more beautiful picture of a woman's 
love, cherished in secret, not self-consuming in silent 



148 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

languishment — not pining in thought — not passive and 
''desponding over its idol" — but patient and hopeful, 
strong in its own intensity, and sustained by its own 
fond faith. . . . All the circumstances and details with 
which Helena is surrounded, are shocking to our feelings 
and wounding to our delicacy: and yet the beauty of the 
character is made to triumph over all. — Jameson, Anna 
Brownell, 1832, Characteristics of Women. 



This play is seldom noticed, and perhaps little under- 
stood, unless there are many like Mrs. Jameson, who has 
ably analysed the character of Helen. It is called one 
of the poet's minor plays; and as far as it has no com- 
munion with the sublimer passions, the appellation is 
correct; in other respects it may rank with the best. That 
Dr. Johnson should have passed sentence on Bertram, 
according to his scholastic and abstract notions of per- 
fection, instead of charitably considering the positive im- 
perfections of our nature, is, at least, short-sighted. — 
Brown, Charles Armitage, 1838, Shakespeare's Auto- 
biographical Poems, p. 266. 



In Helena we clearly see the outlines of one of Shake- 
speare's great mediatorial women, but placed in a more 
trying situation than any of them. They all have and 
must have a common trait — a deeply reconciling spirit, 
which can see the lesser and surrender it for the greater; 
they disguise, prevaricate, fib openly, circumvent parent 
and even the law, to reach the higher end. Formal truth 
of every kind they immolate for their great ethical object, 
which is usually the healing of some disruption in the 
Family; in general, they sacrifice the Moral to the Insti- 
tutional. All of them do thus — Portia, Rosalind, Viola, 



HAMLET. 149 

Imogen, down to Anne Page; we follow them with de- 
light and applaud in them just this strength which gives 
them mastery over their life's problem. But when we 
come to Helena we call a halt, and ask. Is not that which 
she sacrifices a higher spiritual good than the end at- 
tained? Is the price worth the purchase, and does not 
meditation for once cut off its own head? — Snider, D. 
J., 1887, The Shakespearian Drama, The Comedies, p. 
207. 

HAMLET 

1602-3 

The I Tragicall Historie of | HAMLET | Prince of 
Denmarke \ By William Shakespeare. | As it hath beene 
diuerse times acted by his Highnesse ser- | uants in the 
Cittie of London: as also in the two V- | niuersities of 
Cambridge and Oxford, and else-where | At London 
printed for N. L. and John Trundell. | 1603. — Title 
Page of First Edition, 1603. 



It should be like the Never-loo-well read Arcadia, where 
the Prose and Verce (Matter and Words) are like his 
Mistresses eyes, one still excelling another and without 
Corivall: or to come home to the vulgars Element, like 
Friendly Shakespeare's Tragedies, where the Commedian 
rides, when the Tragedian stands on Tip-toe: Faith it 
should please all, like Prince Hamlet. But in sadnesse, 
then it were to be feared he would runne mad: In sooth I 
will not be moone-sicke, to please: nor out of my wits 
though I displeased all. — Scoloker, Anthony, 1604, 
Daiphantus, or the Passions of Love, Epistle to the Reader, 
Roxburghe Club reprint, 181 8. 



150 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

September 5 (At "Serra Leona") I sent the interpreter, 
according to his desier, abord the Hector, whear he brooke 
fast, and after came abord mee, wher we gave the tragedie 
of Hamlett. — (Sept.) 30. Captain Hawkins dined with 
me, wher my companions acted Kinge Richard the Sec- 
ond. — 31. I envited Captain Hawkins to a ffishe din- 
ner, and had Hamlet acted abord me: W^^ I permitt to 
keepe my people from idlens and unlawfull games, or 
sleepe. — Keeling, Captain, 1607, Narratives of Voy- 
ages towards the North-West in search of a Passage to 
Cathay and India, 1496 to 1631, ed. Rundall, 1849, p. 
231. Journal of the Dragon. 



I saw "Hamlet Prince of Denmark" played, but now 
the old plays began to disgust this refined age, since his 
Majestie's being so long abroad. — Evelyn, John, 1661, 
Diary, Nov. 26. 

August 31. — To the Duke of York's playhouse, . . . 
and saw *' Hamlet," which we have not seen this year 
before, or more; and mightily pleased with it, but above 
all, with Betterton, the best part, I believe, that ever man 
acted. — Pepys, Samuel, 1668, Diary and Correspond- 
ence. 



The scene represented by the Players is in wretched 
verse. This we may, without incurring the denomina- 
tion of an ill-natured critic, venture to pronounce: that 
in almost every place where Shakespeare has attempted 
rhyme, either in the body of his plays, or at the ends of 
Acts or Scenes, he falls far short of the beauty and force 
of his blank verse. One would think they were written 



HAMLET. 151 

by two different persons. I believe we may justly take 
notice that rhyme never arrived at its true beauty, never 
came to its perfection, in England until long since Shake- 
speare's time. — Hanmer, Sir Thomas, 1736, Some Re- 
marks on the Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, p. 
39- 



If the dramas of Shakspeare were to be characterized, 
each by the particular excellence which distinguishes it 
from the rest, we must allow to the tragedy of ''Hamlet" 
the praise of variety. The incidents are so numerous 
that the argument of the play would make a long tale. 
The scenes are interchangeably diversified with merri- 
ment and solemnity; with merriment, that includes ju- 
dicious and instructive observations; and solemnity, not 
strained by poetical violence above the natural senti- 
ments of man. New characters appear from time to 
time in continual succession, exhibiting various forms of 
life and particular modes of conversation. The pretended 
madness of Hamlet causes much mirth, the mournful dis- 
traction of Ophelia fills the heart with tenderness, and 
every personage produces the effect intended, from the 
apparition, that in the first act chills the blood with hor- 
ror, to the fop in the last, that exposes affectation to just 
contempt. The conduct is perhaps not wholly secure 
against objections. The action is indeed for the most 
part in continual progression, but there are some scenes 
which neither forward nor retard it. Of the feigned 
madness of Hamlet there appears no adequate cause, for 
he does nothing which he might not have done with the 
reputation of sanity. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General 
Observations on Shakspeare* s Plays, 



152 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



Englishmen believe in ghosts no more than the Ro- 
mans did, yet they take pleasure in the tragedy of "Ham- 
let," in which the ghost of a king appears on the stage. 
Far be it from me to justify everything in that tragedy; 
it is a vulgar and barbarous drama, which would not be 
tolerated by the vilest populace of France, or Italy. Ham- 
let becomes crazy in the second act, and his mistress be- 
comes crazy in the third; the prince slays the father of 
his mistress under the pretence of killing a rat, and the 
heroine throws herself into the river; a grave is dug on 
the stage, and the grave-diggers talk quodlibets worthy 
of themselves, while holding skulls in their hands; Hamlet 
responds to their nasty vulgarities in sillinesses no less 
disgusting. In the meanwhile another of the actors con- 
quers Poland. Hamlet, his mother, and his father-in- 
law carouse on the stage; songs are sung at table; there is 
quarreling, fighting, killing, — one would imagine this 
piece to be the work of a drunken savage. But amidst 
all these vulgar irregularities, which to this day make the 
English drama so absurd and so barbarous, there are to 
be found in "Hamlet," by a bizarrerie still greater, some 
sublime passages, worthy of the greatest genius. It seems 
as though nature had mingled in the brain of Shakespeare 
the greatest conceivable strength and grandeur with 
whatsoever witless vulgarity can devise that is lowest and 
most detestable. It must be confessed that, amid the 
beauties which sparkle through this horrible extrava- 
gance, the ghost of Hamlet's father has a most striking 
theatrical effect. It always had a great effect upon the 
English, — I mean upon those who are the most highly 
educated, and who see most clearly all the irregularity 
of their old drama. — Voltaire, Francois Marie 
Arouet, 1768, Theatre Complet, vol. 11, p. 201. 



HAMLET. 153 

"The time is out of joint ; O cursed spite, 
That ever I was born to set it right!" 

In these words, I imagine, is the key to Hamlet's whole 
procedure, and to me it is clear that Shakespeare sought 
to depict a great deed laid upon a soul unequal to the 
performance of it. In this view I find the piece com- 
posed throughout. Here is an oak-tree planted in a 
costly vase, which should have received into its bosom 
only lovely flowers; the roots spread out, the vase is shiv- 
ered to pieces. A beautiful, pure, and most moral nature, 
without the strength of nerve which makes the hero, 
sinks beneath a burden which it can neither bear nor 
throw off; every duty is holy to him, — this too hard. 
The impossible is required of him, — not the impossible 
in itself, but the impossible to him. How he winds, 
turns, agonizes, advances, and recoils, ever reminded, 
ever reminding himself, and at last almost loses his pur- 
pose from his thoughts, without ever again recovering his 
peace of mind. . . . Hamlet is endowed more properly 
with sentiment than with a character; it is events alone 
that push him on; and accordingly the piece has some- 
what the amplification of a novel. But as it is Fate 
that draws the plan, as the piece proceeds from a deed 
of terror, and the hero is steadily driven on to a deed of 
terror, the work is tragic in its highest sense, and admits 
of no other than a tragic end. — Goethe, Johann 
Wolfgang, 1778, Wilhelm Meister. 



Hamlet cannot be said to have pursued his ends by 
very warrantable means; and if the poet, when he sacri- 
ficed him at last, meant to have enforced such a moral, 
it is not the worst that can be deduced from the play; 



154 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

for, as Maximus, in Beaumont and Fletcher's ''Valentin- 
ian," says: — 

"Although his justice were as white as truth, 
His way was crooked to it; that condemns him." 

The late Dr. Akinside once observed to me, that the con- 
duct of Hamlet was every way unnatural and indefensi- 
ble, unless he were to be regarded as a young man whose 
intellects were in some degree impaired by his own mis- 
fortunes; by the death of his father, the loss of expected 
sovereignty, and a sense of shame resulting from the 
hasty and incestuous marriage of his mother. I have 
dwelt the longer on this subject because Hamlet seems to 
have been hitherto regarded as a hero not undeserving 
the pity of the audience; and because no writer on Shak- 
speare has taken the pains to point out the immoral 
tendency of his character. — Steevens, George, 1778, 
The Plays of William Shakspeare, vol. x. 



The character is consistent. Hamlet is exhibited with 
good dispositions, and struggling with untoward circum- 
stances. The contest is interesting. As he endeavours 
to act aright we approve and esteem him. But his ori- 
ginal constitution renders him unequal to the contest: he 
displays the weaknesses and imperfections to which his 
peculiar character is liable; he is unfortunate; his mis- 
fortunes are in some measure occasioned by his weak- 
ness: he thus becomes an object not of blame, but of 
genuine and tender regret. — Richardson, William, 
1783, Some of Shakespeare's Remarkable Characters. 



"Hamlet" was at first written by Shakespeare as a 
brief sketch; slowly, by degrees, it was amplified. With 



HAMLET, 155 

what love the poet did this, the work itself shows: it con- 
tains reflections upon life, the dreams of youth, partly 
philosophical, partly melancholy, such as Shakespeare 
himself (rank and situation put out of view) may have 
had. Every still soul loves to look into this calm sea in 
which is mirrored the universe of humanity, of time and 
eternity. The only piece, perhaps, which the pure sensus 
humaniiatis has written, and yet a tragedy of Destiny, of 
dark, awful Fate. — Herder, Johann Gottfried, 1800? 
Literatur und Kunst. 

"Hamlet" is single in its kind: a tragedy of thought 
inspired by continual and never satisfied meditation on 
human destiny and the dark perplexity of the events of 
this world, and calculated to call forth the very same 
meditation in the minds of the spectators. This enigmat- 
ical work resembles those irrational equations in which a 
fraction of unknown magnitude always remains, that will 
in no manner admit of solution. Much has been said, 
much written on this piece, and yet no thinking man who 
anew expresses himself on it will, in his view of the con- 
nection and the signification of all the parts, entirely 
coincide with his predecessors. . . . Respecting Ham- 
let's character, I cannot, according to the poet's views as 
I understand them, pronounce altogether so favourable 
a sentence as Goethe's. — Schlegel, Augustus William, 
1809, Dratnatic Art and Literature, tr. Black. 



I see no reason to think that if the play of "Hamlet" 
were written over again by some such writer as Banks or 
Lillo, retaining the process of the story, but totally omit- 
ting all the poetry of it, all the divine features of Shake- 
speare, his stupendous intellect; and only taking care to 



156 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

give us enough of passionate dialogue, which Banks or 
Lillo were never at a loss to furnish; I see not how the 
efifect could be much different upon an audience, nor how 
the actor has it in his power to represent Shakespeare 
to us differently from his representation of Banks or Lilio. 
— Lamb, Charles, 1810? The Tragedies 0} Shakespeare. 



Hamlet is a name; his speeches and sayings but the 
idle coinage of the poet's brain. What then, are they 
not real ? They are as real as our own thoughts. Their 
reality is in the reader's mind. It is we who are Hamlet. 
This play has a prophetic truth, which is above that of 
history. Whoever has become thoughtful and melancholy 
through his own mishaps or those of others; whoever has 
borne about with him the clouded brow of reflection, 
and thought himself ''too much i' th' sun;" whoever has 
seen the golden lamp of day dimmed by envious mists 
rising in his own breast, and could find in the world 
before him only a dull blank with nothing left remark- 
able in it; whoever has known "the pangs of despised 
love, the insolence of office, or the spurns which patient 
merit of the unworthy takes;" he who has felt his mind 
sink within him, and sadness cling to his heart like a 
malady, who has had his hopes blighted and his youth 
staggered by the apparitions of strange things; who can- 
not be well at ease, while he sees evil hovering near him 
like a spectre; whose powers of action have been eaten 
up by thought, he to whom the universe seems infinite, 
and himself nothing; whose bitterness of soul makes him 
careless of consequences, and who goes to a play as his 
best resource to shove oflf, to a second remove, the evils 
of life by a mock representation of them — this is the 
true Hamlet. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters 
of Shakespear^s Plays, p. 74. 



HAMLET. 



157 



I believe the character of Hamlet may be traced to 
Shakspere's deep and accurate science in mental philoso- 
phy. Indeed, that this character must have some con- 
nection with the common fundamental laws of our nature 
may be assumed from the fact, that Hamlet has been 
the darling of every country in which the literature of 
England has been fostered, — Coleridge, Samuel Tay- 
lor, 1818, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 
343- 

^* Hamlet" is not the finest of Shakspeare's dramas; 
"Macbeth," and, I think, "Othello" also, are, on the 
whole, superior to it: but it perhaps contains the most 
remarkable examples of its author's most sublime beau- 
ties, as well as of his most glaring defects. Never has 
he unvailed with more originality, depth, and dramatic 
effect the inmost state of a mighty soul; never also, has 
he yielded with greater unrestraint to the terrible or 
burlesque fancies of his imagination, and to the abundant 
intemperance that is characteristic of a mind without any 
selection, and which delights to render them striking by a 
strong, ingenious, and unexpected expression without car- 
ing to give them a pure and natural form. — Guizot, 
Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, Shakspeare and 
His Times, p. 174. 

"Hamlet" is not the most admirable of Shakespeare's 
works; but Shakespeare is most admirable in "Hamlet." 
— Boerne, L., 1829, Gesammelte Schrijten, Dram. Blatter, 
P' 172. 

Ophelia — poor Ophelia! O, far too soft, too good, 
too fair to be cast among the briers of this working-day 



158 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

world, and fall and bleed upon the thorns of life! What 
shall be said of her? for eloquence is mute before her! 
Like a strain of sad sweet music which comes floating 
by us on the wings of night and silence, and which we 
rather feel than hear — like the exhalation of the violet 
dying even upon the sense it charms — like the snow- 
flake dissolved in air before it has caught a stain of earth 
— like the light surf severed from the billow, which a 
breath disperses — such is the character of Ophelia: so 
exquisitely delicate, it seems as if a touch would profane 
it; so sanctified in our thoughts by the last and worst of 
human woes, that we scarcely dare to consider it too 
deeply. The love of Ophelia, which she never once con- 
fesses, is like a secret which we have stolen from her, 
and which ought to die upon our hearts as upon her 
own. Her sorrows ask not words but tears; and her 
madness has precisely the same effect that would be pro- 
duced by the spectacle of real insanity, if brought before 
us: we feel inclined to turn away, and veil our eyes in 
reverential pity and too painful sympathy. — Jameson, 
Anna Brownell, 1832, Characteristics of Women. 



If Shakespeare's "Hamlet" is to be characterized in a 
word, it is the tragedy of the Nothingness of Reflection^ 
or, as even this phrase may be varied, it is the tragedy 
of the Intellect. . . . Next to "Faust," "Hamlet" is the 
profoundest, boldest, most characteristic tragedy that has 
ever been written. — Gans, Eduard, 1834, Vermischte 
Schriften, vol. 11, p. 270. 

"Hamlet," that tragedy of maniacs, this Royal Bedlam 
in which every character is either crazy or criminal, in 
which feigned madness is added to real madness, and in 



HAMLET. 159 

which the grave itself furnishes the stage with the skull of 
a fool; in that Odeon of shadows and spectres where we 
hear nothing but reveries, the challenge of sentinels, the 
screeching of the night-bird and the roaring of the sea. — 
De Chateaubriand, Francois Rene, Viscomte, 1837, 
Sketches of English Literature, voL i, p. 274. 



If, in all Shakspeare's pieces, it is necessary to dig 
deep before we can reach to the lowest foundation on 
which the dramatic edifice is raised, this is the case es- 
pecially in the present one. Every fresh commentator 
who studies and writes about "Hamlet," goes deeper and 
further than his predecessors, and thinks he has reached 
to the true foundation, which, nevertheless, lies all the 
while still deeper and far beyond his researches. This 
perhaps will be the fate also of my own speculations. 
However, I shall not be deterred by such a prospect, 
but comfort myself rather with the consoling certainty it 
affords of the surpassing fulness and the ever freshly- 
springing fertility of human genius. — Ulrici, Hermann, 
1839, Shakspeare^s Dramatic Art, p. 213. 



Yes, Germany is Hamlet! Lo! 

Upon her ramparts every night 
There stalks in silence, grim and slow, 

Her buried Freedom's steel-clad sprite, 
Beck'ning the warders watching there, 

And to the shrinking doubter saying: 
"They've dropt fell poison in mine ear, 

Draw thou the sword! no more dela\ang!" 

— Freiligrath, Ferdinand, 1844, April, tr. 
Wisier. 



l6o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



There is no drama, as all the world knows, upon which 
so much has been written as Shakespeare's "Hamlet." 
Quick-witted heads (Herr Rotscher's excepted) have all 
had their say about it. After all sorts of fashions, lofty, 
profound, radical, superficial, polished, crude, desultory 
(Herr Rotscher's lucubrations not excepted), it has been 
sestheticised about, romanced about, dogmatized about, 
be-mastered, berated, cut up, quibbled at, be-Hegeled, 
and be-Rotschered. A critical tower of Babel of amazing 
height and breadth has been reared, and for the same 
purpose as is in the Scripture: to scale celestial heights, 
and, as people see, with the same result. The celestial 
heights remain unsealed. A glib little sophomore {Schul- 
juchs) clambering up over the shoulders of Goethe, Gans, 
Tieck, and others, has reached the loftiest pinnacle of the 
tower, and there he is waving high in the air a school- 
programme with the device, "The Nothingness of Reflec- 
tion," but showing only the nothingness of his own re- 
flection; for his motto assumes that the all-powerful imagi- 
nation of Shakespeare was impregnated by a miserable 
scholastic abstraction that has not virility enough to en- 
gender anything. — Klein, L., 1846^ Berliner Moden- 
spiegel. 

No work of Shakespeare's is truly more clear in its 
design than this, although none, if we except the sonnets, 
has been so long and so entirely misunderstood. . . . 
The soliloquies of this "prince of speculative philosophy" 
are masterpieces of reflection, in which Shakespeare had 
recourse to the most profound depths of his wisdom; and 
the intricacies of his subtle thoughts mock the profundity 
of Scandinavian mysteries. — Gervinus, G. G., 1849-62, 
Shakespeare Commentaries, tr. Bunnell, pp. 550, 567. 



HAMLET. l6l 

From the rich troop of his heroes, Shakespeare has 
chosen Hamlet as the exponent, to the spectators and to 
posterity, of all that lay nearest to his own heart. It is 
Hamlet to whom Shakespeare has confided his confession 
of faith as an artist. — Kreyssig, F., 1858, Vorlesungen 
iiber Shakespeare, vol. 11, p. 235. 



Two marvellous Adams, we have just said, are the man 
of ^schylus, Prometheus, and the man of Shakespeare, 
Hamlet. Prometheus is action. Hamlet is hesitation. 
In Prometheus, the obstacle is exterior ; in Hamlet it is 
interior. In Prometheus, the will is securely nailed down 
by nails of brass and cannot get loose; besides, it has by 
its side two watchers. Force and Power. In Hamlet the 
will is more tied down yet; it is bound by previous medita- 
tion, the endless chain of the undecided. Try to get out 
of yourself if you can! What a Gordian knot is our 
reverie! Slavery from within, that is slavery indeed. 
Scale this enclosure, *'to dream!" escape, if you can, 
from this prison, "to love!" the only dungeon is that 
which walls conscience in. Prometheus, in order to be 
free, has but a bronze collar to break and a god to con- 
quer; Hamlet must break and conquer himself. Prome- 
theus can raise himself upright, if he only lifts a mountain; 
to raise himself up, Hamlet must lift his own thoughts. 
If Prometheus plucks the vulture from his breast, all is 
said; Hamlet must tear Hamlet from his breast. Pro- 
metheus and Hamlet are two naked spleens; from one 
runs blood, from the other doubt. — Hugo, Victor, 1864, 
William Shakespeare, tr. Baillot, p. 195. 



There would not be such a difference of opinion about 
this tragedy, and especially about the hero of it, were it 



1 62 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

only borne in mind that it is a tragedy written simply for 
the stage. But how has the poor prince been taken to 
task the last ten years! He could not help it that things 
went all askew in Germany in 1848. "Hamlet is Ger- 
many" in a most indubitable sense, in that the German 
attempts at elucidating "Hamlet" are the contempora- 
neous history of the German mind in miniature. — 
Hebler, C., 1864, Aufstdze iiber Shakespeare, p. 83. 



If a dramatist wished to represent one of his persons 
as feigning madness, that assumed condition would be 
naturally desired by the writer to be as like as possible 
to the real affliction. If the other persons associated with 
him could at once discover that the madness was put on, 
of course the entire action would be marred, and the 
object for which the pretended madness would be de- 
signed would be defeated by the discovery. How con- 
summate must be the poet's art who can have so skil- 
fully described, to the minutest symptoms, the mental 
malady of a great mind as to leave it uncertain to the 
present day, even among learned physicians versed in 
such maladies, whether Hamlet's madness was real or 
assumed. — Wiseman, Nicholas Patrick Stephen, 1865, 
William Shakespeare, p. 41. 



It is a curious fact that in this struggle "Hamlet," the 
very play the subject of which came to England from, or 
at least through, France, is always found in the vanguard. 
Whenever Shakespeare is spoken of, he is styled the 
author of "Hamlet," "Hamlet" being to a certain extent 
regarded as the embodiment not only of Shakespeare, but 
of the English drama in general. — Elze, Karl, 1865, 
Essays on Shakespeare, tr. Schmitz, p. 194. 



HAMLET. 163 

''Hamlet," which has never been fitly and perfectly 
played and never will be and never can be, "Hamlet" 
the intranslatable, "Hamlet" that twenty volumes of 
notes scarcely elucidate, — "Hamlet" is Shakespeare, as 
the "Misanthrope" is Moliere. — Chasles, Philarete, 
1867, Etudes Contemporaines, p. loi. 



Let us put aside altogether the idea that Hamlet, with 
his delays, was, in the mind of the poet, the type of the 
German race. In the first place, Hamlet is not German; 
he is a Dane, which is not the same thing; ask the Danes 
of the present day.^ — Courdaveaux, V., 1867, Carac- 
teres et Talents. Etudes sur la Litter ature Ancienne et 
Moderne, p. 305. 

Notwithstanding the wonderful manner in which Shake- 
speare has sublimated the material, the stuff of the old 
legend, there yet remains something of its original rude- 
ness, and must always remain, because the fruit never 
can disown the soil out of which it has sprung. — Bo- 
DENSTEDT, Friedrich, 1870, Introduction to Translation 
of Hamlet, p. viii. 

If we must draw a moral from Hamlet, it would seem 
to be, that Will is Fate, and that. Will once abdicating, 
the inevitable successor in the regency is Chance. Had 
Hamlet acted, instead of musing how good it would be 
to act, the king might have been the only victim. As it 
is, all the main actors in the story are the fortuitous 
sacrifice of his irresolution. We see how a single great 
vice of character at last draws to itself as allies and con- 
federates all other weaknesses of the man, as in civil 



1 64 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

wars the timid and the selfish wait to throw themselves 
upTon the stronger side. — Lowell, James Russell, 
1868-90, Shakespeare Once More, Prose Works. Riverside 
ed., vol. Ill, p. 91. 

Hamlet is Shakspeare, and, at the close of this gallery 
of portraits which have all some features of his own, 
Shakspeare has painted himself in the most striking of 
all. — Taine, H. a., 1871, History of English Literature, 
tr. Van Laun, vol. i, bk. ii, ch. iv, p. 340. 



Shakespeare carefully avoids the appearance of every- 
thing sketchy, rectilineal, hurried. The branch ramifies. 
The situation is hollowed out. — Ludwig, Otto, 1872, 
Shakespeare-Studien, p. 138. 



That it is not the piece itself particularly which im- 
presses the public is evident from the fact, that for several 
decades the play has been given in different places in 
different shapes. Every one who has undertaken to alter 
the piece has picked out such parts as he considered es- 
pecially effective, and left out other portions. . . . The 
fact that a piece has admitted of so many alterations 
shows how very loosely it is constructed. — Benedix, 
Roderich, 1873, Die S hakes pearomanie, p. 289. 



In no other piece has Shakespeare employed in such 
measure all the means of his art. The earlier acts are 
among the most powerful in all dramatic literature. The 
epic ductus of the last two must not be considered as a 
defect. We find the same mode ol composition in his 
other dramas. — Grimm, Herman, 1875, Hamlet, Preus- 
sische Jahrbiicher, April, p. 398. 



HAMLET, 165 

In "Hamlet" alone, the most marvellously true as it is 
the most marvellously profound example of Shakspere's 
power of characterisation, the central character is con- 
ceived on a far broader basis than is furnished by the 
action of the play. In reading this tragedy, or seeing it 
acted on the stage, the plot is forgotten in the hero. It 
is as if Hamlet were pausing, not before the deed which 
he is in reality hesitating to perform — and which is 
neither a great nor a difficult one — but before action in 
general. This one necessity proves too heavy for Hamlet 
to bear; the acorn — to use Goethe's simile — bursts the 
vessel in which it has been planted; and Hamlet suc- 
cumbs beneath the fardel which is imposed on all hu- 
manity. — Ward, Adolphus William, 1875-99, ^ his- 
tory of English Dramatic Literature, vol. 11, p. 294. 



Not the faintest streak of Humor appears in this tragedy 
to reconcile us with the drift of it. — Weiss, John, 1876, 
Wit, Humor, and Shakespeare, p. 159. 



No one of mortal mould (save Him ''whose blessed 
feet were nailed for our advantage to the bitter cross") 
ever trod this earth, commanding such absorbing interest 
as this Hamlet, this mere creation of a poet's brain. No 
syllable that he whispers, no word let fall by any one 
near him, but is caught and pondered as no words ever 
have been, except of Holy Writ. Upon no throne built by 
mortal hands has ever "beat so fierce a light" as upon that 
airy fabric reared at Elsinore. — Furness, Horace How- 
ard, 1877, ed. New Variorum Shakespeare, Hamlet, p. xii. 



Every change in the text of "Hamlet" has impaired 
its fitness for the stage and increased its value for the 



1 66 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

closet in exact and perfect proportion. Now, this is not 
a matter of opinion — of Mr. Pope's opinion or Mr. 
Carlyle's; it is a matter of fact and evidence. Even in 
Shakespeare's time the actors threw out his additions; 
they throw out these very same additions in our own. 
The one especial speech, if any one such especial speech 
there be, in which the personal genius of Shakespeare 
soars up to the very highest of its height and strikes 
down to the very deepest of its depth, is passed over by 
modern actors; it was cut away by Hemings and Condell. 
We may almost assume it as certain that no boards have 
ever echoed — at least, more than once or twice — to 
the supreme soliloquy of Hamlet. Those words which 
combine the noblest pleading ever proffered for the rights 
of human reason with the loftiest vindication ever uttered 
of those rights, no mortal ear within our knowledge has 
ever heard spoken on the stage. A convocation even of 
all priests could not have been more unhesitatingly unan- 
imous in its rejection than seems to have been the heredi- 
tary verdict of all actors. It could hardly have been 
found worthier of theological than it has been found of 
theatrical condemnation. Yet, beyond all question, 
magnificent as is that monologue on suicide and doubt 
which has passed from a proverb into a byword, it is 
actually eclipsed and distanced at once on philosophic 
and on poetical grounds by the later soliloquy on reason 
and resolution. — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, 
A Study of Shakespeare^ p. 164. 



Highly educated, possessed of a vivid imagination, his 
intellect is continually at war with his heart; and while 
the latter impels him to action, the stronger influence of 
his mind controls him, and he remains inert. . . . With 



HAMLET. 167 

him it is thought that produces doubt, and the idea of 
Shakspere as represented in "Hamlet" seems to be ''the 
prevalence of thought over the faculty of action." — 
Salvini, Tommaso, 1 88 1, Impressions of Some Shaks- 
perean Characters, Century Magazine, vol. 23, p. 112. 



"Hamlet" is the greatest creation in literature that I 
know of: though there may be elsewhere finer scenes and 
passages of poetry. Ugolino and Paolo and Francesca in 
Dante equal anything anywhere. It is said that Shake- 
speare was such a poor actor that he never got beyond 
his ghost in this play, but then the ghost is the most real 
ghost that ever was. The Queen did not think that 
Ophelia committed suicide, neither do I. — Tennyson, 
Alfred, Lord, 1883, Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir 
by His Son, vol. 11, p. 291. 



"Hamlet" has given the name of Denmark a world- 
wide renown. Of all Danish men, there is only one who 
can be called famous on the largest scale; only one with 
whom the thoughts of men are for ever busied in Europe, 
America, Australia, aye, even in Asia and Africa, wherever 
European culture has made its way; and this one never 
existed, at any rate in the form in which he has become 
known to the world. Denmark has produced several 
men of note — Tycho Brahe, Thorvaldsen, and Hans 
Christian Andersen — but none of them has attained a 
hundredth part of Hamlet's fame. The "Hamlet" liter- 
ature is comparable in extent to the literature of one of 
the smaller European peoples — the Slovaks, for instance. 
— Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A 
Critical Study, vol. 11, p. 2. 



1 68 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

''Hamlet" was the only drama by Shakespeare that 
was acted m his lifetime at the two Universities. It has 
since attracted more attention from actors, play-goers, 
and readers of all capacities than any other of Shake- 
speare's plays. Its world-wide popularity from its au- 
thor's day to our own, when it is as warmly welcomed in 
the theatres of France and Germany as in those of Eng- 
land and America, is the most striking of the many 
testimonies to the eminence of Shakespeare's dramatic 
instinct. At a first glance there seems little in the play 
to attract the uneducated or the unreflecting. ... It is 
the intensity of interest which Shakespeare contrives to 
excite in the character of the hero that explains the po- 
sition of the play in popular esteem. The play's un- 
rivalled power of attraction lies in the pathetic fascina- 
tion exerted on minds of almost every calibre by the 
central figure — a high-born youth of chivalric instincts 
and finely developed intellect, who, when stirred to avenge 
in action a desperate private wrong, is foiled by intro- 
spective workings of the brain that paralyse the will. — 
Lee, Sidney, 1898, A Life of William Shakespeare, pp. 
224, 225. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE 

1603 

Of this play, the light or comic part is very natural 
and pleasing, but the grave scenes, if a few passages be 
excepted, have more labour than elegance. The plot is 
rather intricate than artful. The time of the action is 
indefinite; some time, we know not how much, must 
have elapsed between the recess of the duke and the 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 1 69 

imprisonment of Claudio; for he must have learned the 
story of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated his 
power to a man already known to be corrupted. The 
unities of action and place are sufficiently preserved. — 
Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations on Shak- 
speare's Plays. 

The noble virtue, the true greatness, and the feminine 
honour of Isabella, are every where conveyed through 
sentiments of responsive eloquence, and the great and 
commanding justice of the Duke, who learns the temper 
of his subjects to govern them, and who chuses for a 
wife the most amiable of those subjects, are dressed in 
language no less consonant. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, 
A Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 314. 



Yet, notwithstanding this agitating truthfulness, how 
tender and mild is the pervading tone of the picture! 
The piece takes improperly its name from punishment; 
the true significance of the whole is the triumph of mercy 
over strict justice, no man being himself so free from 
errors as to be entitled to deal it out to his equals. The 
most beautiful embellishment of the composition is the 
character of Isabella . . . whose heavenly purity, amid 
the general corruption, is not stained with one unholy 
thought. In the humble robes of the novice she is a very 
angel of light. — Schlegel, Augustus William, 1809, 
Dramatic Art and Literature. 



This play, which is Shakspere's throughout, is to me 
the most painful — say rather, the only painful — part 
of his genuine works. The comic and tragic parts equally 
border on the fXLorrjTov, — the one being disgusting, the 



I/O WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

other horrible; and the pardon and marriage of Angelo 
not merely baffles the strong indignant claim of justice 
— (for cruelty, with lust and damnable baseness, cannot 
be forgiven, because we cannot conceive them as being 
morally repented of;) but it is likewise degrading to the 
character of woman, Beaumont and Fletcher, who can 
follow Shakspere in his errors only, have presented a 
still worse, because more loathsome and contradictory, in- 
stance of the same kind in the "Night- Walker," in the 
marriage of Alathe to Algripe. Of the counterbalancing 
beauties of "Measure for Measure," I need say nothing; 
for I have already remarked that the play is Shakspere's 
throughout. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, i8i8. Lec- 
tures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 299. 



Is perhaps, after Hamlet, Lear, and Macbeth, the play 
in which Shakspeare struggles, as it were, most with the 
over-mastering power of his own mind the depths and 
intricacies of being, which he has searched and sounded 
with intense reflection, perplex and harass him; his per- 
sonages arrest their course of action to pour forth, in 
language the most remote from common use, thoughts 
which few could grasp in the clearest expression; and 
thus he loses something of dramatic excellence in that of 
his contemplative philosophy. ... I do not value the 
comic parts highly: Lucio's impudent profligacy, the re- 
sult rather of sensual debasement than of natural ill dis- 
position, is well represented; but Elbow is a very inferior 
repetition of Dogberry. In dramatic effect, "Measure for 
Measure" ranks high: the two scenes between Isabella 
and Angelo, that between her and Claudio, those where 
the Duke appears in disguise, and the catastrophe in the 
fifth act, are admirably written and very interesting; ex- 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 17I 

cept so far as the spectator's knowledge of the two strata- 
gems which have deceived Angelo may prevent him from 
participating in the indignation at Isabella's imaginary 
wrong, which her lamentations would excite. — Hallam, 
Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature 0] Europe^ 
pt. iii, ch. vi, par. 40. 

** Measure for Measure" exhibits more clearly than any 
other piece the profound skill of Shakspeare, in giving 
intellectual depth and dramatic life to his traditional 
materials. — Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, Shakspeare's Dra- 
matic Art, p. 315. 

No one of the high female characters of tragedy has 
been found more effective in representation than Isabella; 
while there is perhaps no composition of the same length 
in the language which has left more of its expressive 
phrases, its moral aphorisms, its brief sentences crowded 
with meaning, fixed in the general memory, and em- 
bodied by daily use in every form of popular eloquence, 
argument, and literature. — Verplanck, Gulian Crom- 
MELIN, 1844-47, ^^- ^^^ Illustrated Shakespeare. 



In *' Measure for Measure," in contrast with the flaw- 
less execution of " Romeo and Juliet," Shakespeare has 
spent his art in just enough modification of the scheme of 
the older play to make it exponent of this purpose, adapt- 
ing its terrible essential incidents, so that Coleridge found 
it the only painful work among Shakespeare's dramas, 
and leaving for the reader of to-day more than the usual 
number of difiicult expressions ; but infusing a lavish 
colour and a profound significance into it, so that under 
his touch certain select portions of it rise far above the 



1^2 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

level of all but his own best poetry, and working out of it 
a morality so characteristic that the play might well pass 
for the central expression of his moral judgments. It 
remains a comedy, as indeed is congruous with the bland, 
half-humorous equity which informs the whole composi- 
tion, sinking from the heights of sorrow and terror into 
the rough scheme of the earlier piece; yet it is hardly less 
full of what is really tragic in man's existence than if 
Claudio had indeed "stooped to death." Even the hu- 
morous concluding scenes have traits of special grace, re- 
taining in less emphatic passages a stray line or word of 
power, as it seems, so that we watch to the end for the 
traces where the nobler hand has glanced along, leaving 
its vestiges, as if accidentally or wastefully, in the rising of 
the style. — Pater, Walter, 1874, Appreciations, p. 176. 



Almost all that is here worthy of Shakespeare at any 
time is worthy of Shakespeare at his highest: and of this 
every touch, every line, every incident, every syllable be- 
longs to pure and simple tragedy. The evasion of a tragic 
end by the invention and intromission of Mariana has 
deserved and received high praise for its ingenuity: but 
ingenious evasion of a natural and proper end is usually 
the distinctive quality which denotes a workman of a 
very much lower school than the school of Shakespeare. 
In short and in fact, the whole elaborate machinery by 
which the complete and completely unsatisfactory result 
of the whole plot is attained is so thoroughly worthy of 
such a contriver as "the old fantastical duke of dark 
corners" as to be in a moral sense, if I dare say what I 
think, very far from thoroughly worthy of the wisest and 
mightiest mind that ever was informed with the spirit 
or genius of creative poetry. — Swinburne, Algernon 
Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 203. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 1/3 

He treated the subject as he did, because the interests 
of the theatre demanded that the woof of comedy should 
be interwoven with the severe and sombre warp of tra- 
gedy. But what a comedy! Dark, tragic, heavy as the 
poet's mood — a tragi-comedy, in which the unusually 
broad and realistic comic scenes, with their pictures of 
the dregs of society, cannot relieve the painfulness of the 
theme, or disguise the positively criminal nature of the 
action. One feels throughout, even in the comic episodes, 
that Shakespeare's burning wrath at the moral hypocrisy 
of self-righteousness underlies the whole structure like a 
volcano, which every moment shoots up its flames through 
the superficial form of comedy and the interludes of 
obligatory merriment. — Brandes, George, 1898, Wil- 
liam Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. 11, p. Ji. 



Even in that unequal melody, ''Measure for Measure," 
the great scene between Isabel and Claudio so far tran- 
scends anything that English, anything that European, 
drama had had to show for nearly two thousand years, 
that in this special point of view it remains perhaps the 
most wonderful in Shakespeare. Marlowe has nothing 
like it; his greatest passages, psychologically speaking, are 
always monologues; he cannot even attempt the clash 
and play of soul with soul that is so miraculously given 
here. — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short History of 
English Literature, p. 323, 



174 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

JULIUS C^SAR. 

1601-3. 

The many-headed multitude were drawne 
By Brutus speech, that Casar was ambitious, 
When eloquent Mark Antonie had showne 
His vertues, who but Brutus then was vicious? 
Mans memorie, with new, forgets the old, 
One tale is good, untill another's told. 
— WEEVERjoHN,i6oi,T/^e Mirror o/Mar/^'rj, 5.4. 



So I have seene, when Cesar would appeare, 

And on the Stage at halfe-sword parley were, 

Brutus and Cassius: oh how the Audience 

Were ravish 'd, with what new wonder they went thence, 

When some new day they would not brooke a Hne 

Of tedious (though well laboured) Catiline. 

— DiGGES, Leonard, 1640, Upon Master Wil- 
liam Shakespeare. 

This may shew with what indignity our poet treats the 
noblest Romans. But there is no other cloth in his 
wardrobe. Every one must wear a fool's coat that comes 
to be dressed by him; nor is he more civil to the ladies 
— Portia, in good manners, might have challenged more 
respect; she that shines a glory of the first magnitude in 
the gallery of heroic dames, is with our poet scarce one re- 
move from a natural; she is the own cousin-german of 
one piece, the very same impertinent silly flesh and blood 
with Desdemona. Shakespear's genius lay for comedy 
and humour. In tragedy he appears quite out of his 
element; his brains are turned — he raves and rambles 
without any coherence, any spark of reason, or any rule 
to controul him, to set bounds to his phrenzy. — Rymer, 
Thomas, 1693, A Short View oj the Tragedy of the Last 
Age, 



JULIUS C^SAR. 175 

Of this tragedy many particular passages deserve regard, 
and the contention and reconcilement of Brutus and 
Cassius is universally celebrated; but I have never been 
strongly agitated in perusing it, and think it somewhat 
cold and unaffecting, compared with some other of Shak- 
speare's plays; his adherence to the real story, and to 
Roman manners, seems to have impeded the natural 
vigour of his genius. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General 
Observations on Shakspeare's Plays. 



I know no part of Shakspere that more impresses on 
me the belief of his genius being superhuman, than this 
scene between Brutus and Cassius. In the Gnostic her- 
esy, it might have been credited with less absurdity than 
most of their dogmas, that the Supreme had employed 
him to create, previously to his function of representing, 
characters. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 181 8, Lec- 
tures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 315. 



Neither has he characters of insignificance, unless the 
phantom that stalks over the stage as Julius Caesar, in 
the play of that name, may be accounted one. — Lamb, 
Charles, 1834, T able-Talk. 

In "Julius Csesar" Shakspere makes a complete im- 
aginative study of the case of a man predestined to fail- 
ure. . . . Brutus is an idealist. . . . Moral ideas and 
principles are more to him than concrete realities; he is 
studious of self-perfection. . . . Cassius, on the con- 
trary, is by no means studious of moral perfection. He 
is frankly envious, and hates Caesar. . . . Julius Caesar 
appears in only three scenes of the play. In the first 
scene of the third act he dies. Where he does appear, 
the poet seems anxious to insist upon the weakness 



176 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

rather than the strength of Caesar. ... In the charac- 
ters of the "Julius Cassar" there is a severity of outline; 
they impose themselves with strict authority upon the 
imagination; subordinated to the great spirit of Caesar, 
the conspirators appear as figures of life-size, but they 
impress us as no larger than life. — Dow^den, Edward, 
1875-80, Shakspere, A Critical Study of His Mind and 
Art, pp. 249, 251, 253, 272. 



The style of "Julius Caesar" is characterized by sim- 
plicity and breadth of touch, and each sentence is clear, 
easy, and flowing, with the thought clothed in perfect 
and adequate expression: the lines are as limpid as those 
of "Romeo and Juliet," but without their remains of 
rhyme and Italian conceits. Of all Shakespeare's works, 
none has greater purity of verse or transparent fluency. 
, . . Nothing perhaps in the whole roll of dramatic 
poetry equals the tenderness given by Shakespeare to 
Brutus, that tenderness of a strong nature which the force 
of contrast renders so touching and so beautiful. — 
Staffer, Paul, 1880, Shakespeare and Classical Anti- 
quity, tr. Carey, pp. 317, 342. 



It is afternoon, a little before three o'clock. Whole 
fleets of wherries are crossing the Thames, picking their 
way among the swans and the other boats, to land their 
passengers on the south bank of the river. Skiff after 
skiff puts forth from the Blackfriars stair, full of theatre- 
goers who have delayed a little too long over their dinner 
and are afraid of being too late; for the flag waving over 
the Globe Theatre announces that there is a play to-day. 
The bills upon the street-posts have informed the public 
that Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" is to be presented, 



JULIUS CyESAR. 177 

and the play draws a full house. People pay their six- 
pences and enter; the balconies and the pit are filled. 
Distinguished and specially favoured spectators take their 
seats on the stage behind the curtain. Then sound the 
first, the second, and the third trumpet-blasts, the curtain 
parts in the middle, and reveals a stage entirely hung 
with black. Enter the tribunes Flavins and MaruUus; 
they scold the rabble and drive them home because they 
are loafing about on a week-day without their working- 
clothes and tools — in contravention of a London police 
regulation which the public finds so natural that they 
(and the poet) can conceive it as in force in ancient 
Rome. At first the audience is somewhat restless. The 
groundlings talk in undertones as they light their pipes. 
But the Second Citizen speaks the name Caesar. There 
are cries of ''Hush! hush!" and the progress of the play 
is followed with eager attention. It was received with 
applause, and soon became very popular. — Brandes, 
George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, 
'vol. I, p. 357- 

Brutus is one of the noblest and most consistent of 
Shakespearian creations; a man far above all self-seeking 
and capable of the loftiest patriotism; in whose whole 
bearing, as in his deepest nature, virtue wears her noblest 
aspect. But Brutus is an idealist, with a touch of the 
doctrinaire; his purposes are of the highest, but the means 
he employs to give those purposes effect are utterly in- 
adequate; in a lofty spirit he embarks on an enterprise 
doomed to failure by the very temper and pressure of 
the age. "Julius Cassar" is the tragedy of the conflict 
between a great nature, denied the sense of reality, and 
the world-spirit. Brutus is not only crushed, but recog- 



178 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

nizes that there was no other issue of his untimely en- 
deavour. — Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1900, William 
Shakespeare^ Poet, Dramatist, and Man, p. 298. 



OTHELLO 

1604 

THE I Tragoedy of Othello, | The Moore of Venice. 
\ As it hath beene diuerse times acted at the \ Globe, -and 
at I Black-Friers, by | his Maiesties Seruants. | Written 
by William Shakespeare. | London. | Printed by N. O. 
for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at his | shop, at 
the Eagle and Child, in Brittans Bursse. | 1622. — Title 
Page op First Edition, 1622, 



To set forth a booke without an Epistle, were like to 
the old English prouerbe, A blew coat without a badge, 
& the Author being dead, I thought good to take that 
piece of worke upon mee: To commend it, I will not, for 
that which is good, I hope euery man will commend, 
without intreaty: and I am the bolder, because the au- 
thor's name is sufficient to vent his worke. Thus leau- 
ing euery one to the liberty of iudgement: I haue ventered 
to print this play, and leaue it to the generall censure. - - 
Walkley, Thomas, 1622, The Stationer to the Reader ^ 
First Quarto ed. 

August 20. — To Deptford by water, reading "Othello, 
Moore of Venice," which I ever heretofore esteemed a 
mighty good play, but having so lately read "The Ad- 
ventures of Five Houres," it seems a mean thing. — 
Pepys, Samuel, 1666, Diary and Correspondence. 



OTHELLO, 179 

Whatever rubs or difficulty may stick on the bark, the 
moral use of this fable is very instructive. First, this may 
be a caution to all maidens of quality, how, without their 
parents' consent, they run away with blackamoors. Sec- 
ondly, this may be a warning to all good wives, that 
they look well to their linen. Thirdly, this may be a 
lesson to husbands, that before their jealousy be tragical, 
the proofs may be mathematical. . . . Whence comes it 
then, that this is the top scene; the scene that raises 
''Othello" above all other tragedies at our theatres? It 
is purely from the action; from the mops and the mows, 
the grimace, the grins, and gesticulation. Such scenes as 
this have made all the world run after Harlequin and 
Scaramoucio. The several degrees of action were amongst 
the ancients distinguished by the cothurnus, the soccus, 
and the planipes. Had this scene been represented at 
Old Rome, Othello and lago must have quitted their 
buskins; they must have played harejoot : for the specta- 
tors would not have been content without seeing their 
podometry; and the jealousy work out at the very toes 
of them. . . . There is in this play some burlesk, some 
humour, and ramble of comical wit, some shew, and some 
mimicry to divert the spectators; but the tragical part is 
clearly none other than a bloody farce, without salt or 
savour. — Rymer, Thomas, 1693, A Short View of the 
Tragedy of the Last Age. 



He whose genious has unfolded to him the knowledge 
of man's nature and the force of his passions; has taught 
him the causes by which the soul is moved to strong 
emotions, or calmed to rest; has enabled him not only to 
explain in words those emotions, but to exhibit them 
vividly to other eyes; thus ruling, exciting, distracting, 



l80 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

soothing our feelings, — this man, however little aided by 
the discipline of learning, is, in my judgment, a philoso- 
pher of the highest rank. In this manner, in a single 
dramatic fable of our own Shakespeare, the passion of 
jealousy, its causes, progress, incidents, and effects, have 
been more truly, more acutely, more copiously, and more 
impressively delineated than has been done by all the 
disquisitions of all the philosophers who have treated on 
this dark argument. — Lowth, Robert, 1753-63, PrcB- 
lectiones de Sacra Poesi Hehrceorum. 



Cassio is brave, benevolent and honest, ruined only by 
his want of stubbornness to resist an insidious invitation. 
Roderigo's suspicious credulity, and impatient submis- 
sion to the cheats which he sees practiced upon him, 
and which by persuasion he suffers to be repeated, ex- 
hibit a strong picture of a weak mind betrayed by un- 
lawful desires to a false friend; and the virtue of Emilia 
is such as we often find worn loosely, but not cast off, 
easy to commit small crimes, but quickened and alarmed 
at atrocious villanies. — Johnson, Samuel, 1868, General 
Observations on Shakspeare^s Plays. 



The best play upon the whole of Shakespear, and say- 
ing this it naturally follows that it is the best the world 
can produce. — DiBDiN, Charles, 1795, A Complete 
History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 349. 



Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear, — 
The gentle Lady married to the Moor; 
And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 
— Wordsworth, William, 1806, Sonnet. 



OTHELLO. l8l 

Desdemona has espoused Othello; she has chosen him, 
as he is, out of a thousand others more worthy of her; 
she has left all for him; to all appearance she loves him; 
lago himself does not doubt it; hardly have they received 
the nuptial benediction before they are separated; Othello 
sets out with Cassio — observe, with Cassio; Desdemona 
also departs for Cyprus; by accident the two parties, who 
had left Venice at different times arrive in Cyprus the 
same day, within half an hour of one another. To the 
knowledge and in the sight of all, Othello included, Cassio, 
the companion of his voyage, has not been able to speak 
to Desdemona more than ten minutes on the public road. 
And yet on the afternoon of this same day, in the midst 
of the first transports of a union which has been for so 
long a time retarded, lago takes upon himself to persuade 
the amorous Othello that Desdemona, the gentle Desde- 
mona, has betrayed him, before even she has belonged 
to him — that she has delivered up her heart and her 
person — to whom ? — to Cassio, who has been able 
neither to see her nor to converse with her. And lago 
speaks of his passion as a thing already ancient, and 
yet — and yet as a thing posterior to her marriage with 
Othello; for he represents Cassio as exclaiming, 

"Cursed fate, that gave thee to the Moor!" 

and lago speaks of Cassio's intrigue with innumerable 
details and interminable explanations. Which is the 
greatest simpleton, the man who conceives such a project, 
or the man who allows himself to be entrapped by it? 
. . . The author is himself successful: but why? Be- 
cause, such is the intensity and vivacity of his original 
conception, that the most revolting improbabilities, the 
most inconceivable absurdities, pass by unperceived; be- 



1 82 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

cause no one is so ungracious, no one has the time to 
notice the stratagems of the drama. It is, however, an- 
other thing to offer these absurdities to be admired as 
merits. — Guizot, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 182 i- 
52, Shakspeare and His Times, pp. 279, 280. 



Othello must not be conceived as a negro, but a high 
and chivalrous Moorish chief. Shakspere learned the 
spirit of the character from the Spanish poetry, which 
was prevalent in England in his time. Jealousy does not 
strike me as the point in his passion; I take it to be rather 
an agony that the creature, whom he had believed angelic, 
with whom he had garnered up his heart, and whom he 
could not help still loving, should be proved impure and 
worthless. It was the struggle not to love her. It was 
a nibral indignation and regret that virtue should so fall: 
— "But yet the pity of it, lago! — O lago! the pity of it, 
lago!" In addition to this, his honour was concerned: 
lago would not have succeeded but by hinting that his 
honour was compromised. There is no ferocity in 
Othello; his mind is majestic and composed. He deliber- 
ately determines to die; and speaks his last speech with a 
view of showing his attachment to the Venetian state, 
though it had superseded him. Schiller has the material 
Sublime; to produce an effect, he sets you a whole town 
on fire, and throws infants with their mothers into the 
flames, or locks up a father in an old tower. But Shak- 
spere drops a handkerchief, and the same or greater 
effects follow. Lear is the most tremendous effort of 
Shakspere as a poet; Hamlet as a philosopher or medi- 
tator; and Othello is the union of the two. There is 
something gigantic and unformed in the former two; but 
in the latter, everything assumes its due place and pro- 



OTHELLO. 183 

portion, and the whole mature powers of his mind are 
displayed in admirable equilibrium. — Coleridge, Sam- 
uel Taylor, 1822, Table Talk, Dec. 29. 



Nothing in poetry has ever been written more pathetic 
than the scene preceding Desdemona's death; I confess I 
almost always turn away my eyes from the poor girl 
with her infinitely touching song of ''Willow, willow, 
willow," and I would fain ask the Poet whether his tragic 
arrow, which always hits the mark, does not here pierce 
almost too deeply. I would not call the last word with 
which she dies a lie, or even a "noble" lie; this qualifica- 
tion has been wretchedly misused. The lie with which 
Desdemona dies is divine truth, too good to come within 
the compass of an earthly moral code. — Horn, Franz, 
1823, Shakespeare's Schauspiele erlautert, vol. 11. 



"Othello" is perhaps the greatest work in the world. 
From what does it derive its power? From the clouds? 
From the ocean? From the mountains? Or from love 
strong as death, and jealousy cruel as the grave? — 
Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1824, Essay on Dante. 



Emilia in this play is a perfect portrait from common 
life, a masterpiece in the Flemish style; and though not 
necessary as a contrast, it cannot be but that the thor- 
ough vulgarity, the loose principles of this plebeian woman, 
united to a high degree of spirit, energetic feeling, strong 
sense, and low cunning, serve to place in brighter relief 
the exquisite refinement, the moral grace, the unblem- 
ished truth, and the soft submission of Desdemona. — 
Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Characteristics oj 
Shakespeare'' s Women. 



1 84 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

It would settle the dispute as to whether Shakespeare 
intended Othello for a jealous character, to consider how 
differently we are affected towards him, and for Leontes 
in the ''Winter's Tale." Leontes is that character. 
Othello's fault was simply credulity. — Lamb, Charles, 
1834, T able-Talk. 

"Othello" has always appeared to me the most fearful 
of all Shakspeare's tragedies, but truly in the sense of 
the Greek — Setvo-ravo. My sympathies are as much re- 
pelled as attracted by it. The emotions it excites resem- 
ble those with which we regard the men who, while they 
irresistibly attract us by the powers and splendour of their 
genius, alienate us no less forcibly by their character and 
disposition. As often as I read it a ferment of conflicting 
thoughts and feelings takes possession of my mind, and it 
is only slowly that this deep commotion gives place to 
that soothing and calm elevation, which, in all the other 
tragedies of our author, so quickly succeeds the more 
painful impression. — Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, Shak- 
speare^s Dramatic Art, p. 183. 



Were Othello but the spirited portrait of a half-tamed 
barbarian, we should view him as a bold and happy 
poetical conception, and, as such, the poet's work might 
satisfy our critical judgment; but it is because it depicts 
a noble mind, wrought by deep passion and dark devices 
to agonies such as every one might feel, that it awakens 
our strongest sympathies. We see in this drama a grand 
and true moral picture; we read in it a profound ethical 
lesson; for (to borrow the just image of the classical 
Lowth) while the matchless work is built up to the noblest 



OTHELLO. 185 

height of poetry, it rests upon the deepest foundations of 
true philosophy. — Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 
1844-47, ed. The Illustrated Shakespeare. 



Now what is Othello? He is night. An immense 
fatal figure. Night is amorous of day. Darkness loves 
the dawn. The African adores the white woman. Des- 
demona is Othello's brightness and frenzy! And then 
how easy to him is jealousy! He is great, he is dignified, 
he is majestic, he soars above all heads, he has as an 
escort bravery, battle, the braying of trumpets, the ban- 
ner of war, renown, glory; he is radiant with twenty vic- 
tories, he is studded with stars, this Othello: but he is 
black. And thus how soon, when jealous, the hero be- 
comes monster, the black becomes the negro! How 
speedily has night beckoned to death! By the side of 
Othello, who is night, there is lago, who is evil. Evil, 
the other form of darkness. Night is but the night of 
the world; evil is the night of the soul. How deeply 
black are perfidy and falsehood! To have ink or treason 
in the veins is the same thing. Whoever has jostled 
against imposture and perjury knows it. One must 
blindly grope one's way with roguery. Pour hypocrisy 
upon the break of day, and you put out the sun, and this, 
thanks to false religions, happens to God. lago near 
Othello is the precipice near the landslip. "This way!" 
he says in a low voice. The snare advises blindness. 
The being of darkness guides the black. Deceit takes 
upon itself to give what light may be required by night. 
Jealousy uses falsehood as the blind man his dog. lago 
the traitor, opposed to whiteness and candour, Othello 
the negro, what can be more terrible! These ferocities 
of the darkness act in unison. These two incarnations of 



1 86 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the eclipse comprise together, the one roaring, the other 
sneering, the tragic suffocation of light. — Hugo, Victor, 
1864, William Shakespeare, tr. Baillot, p. 208. 



Actors do not comprehend that Shakespeare's greatest 
villains, lago among them, have always a touch of con- 
science. You see the conscience working — therein lies 
one of Shakespeare's pre-eminencies. lago ought to be 
acted as the ** honest lago," not the stage villain; he is 
the essentially jealous man, not Othello. — Tennyson, 
Alfred, Lord, 1883, Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir 
by His Son, vol. 11, p. 292. 



Thus, too, we see one of the fundamental rules of 
Shakespeare vindicated — that man cannot escape his 
own deed; hence Othello is the author of his own fate, 
since by his guilt he has called up the avenger who will 
destroy him and his family; while, without the view above 
developed, he must appear as an innocent sufferer de- 
ceived by a malicious villain. It will, therefore, be seen 
that two things of the greatest importance have their sole 
explanation in this view, namely, the manner of lago's 
revenge, and his knowledge of the assailable point in 
Othello's character. Here also we find the solution of 
the Moor's contradictory nature. He is, in general, un- 
suspecting; but, on account of his guilt, he is capable of 
one suspicion, namely, that wives may be faithless. The 
poet has thus added to the distinction of race — for 
which the Moor could not be blamed — a second motive, 
the criminal deed, of which he must take the responsi- 
bility. The military life of Othello will furnish the third 
principle — that of honour, which will impel him to 
destroy the wife whom he thinks to have violated it in its 



OTHELLO. 187 

deepest and most tender part. — Snider, Denton Jaques, 
1887, The Shakespearian Drama, The Tragedies, p. 107. 



Surpasses all the others in the strength of its dramatic 
effects, culminating in the third act, which is indeed, dra- 
matically, the most thrilling act in all his writings. — Ten 
Brink, Bernhard, 1892-95, Five Lectures on Shake- 
speare, tr. Franklin, p. 86. 



Simple-minded critics have been of opinion that Shake- 
speare constructed lago on the lines of the historic Rich- 
ard III. — that is to say, found him in literature, in the 
pages of a chronicler. Believe me, Shakespeare met lago 
in his own life, saw portions and aspects of him on every 
hand throughout his manhood, encountered him piece- 
meal, as it were, on his daily path, till one fine day, when 
he thoroughly felt and understood what malignant clever- 
ness and baseness can effect, he melted down all these 
fragments, and out of them cast this figure. lago — 
there is more of the grand manner in this figure than in 
the whole of ''Macbeth." lago — there is more depth, 
more penetrating knowledge of human nature in this one 
character than in the whole of "Macbeth." lago is the 
very embodiment of the grand manner. He is not the 
principle of evil, not an old-fashioned, stupid devil; nor 
a Miltonic devil, who loves independence and has in- 
vented firearms; nor a Goethe's Mephistopheles, who 
talks cynicism, makes himself indispensable, and is gen- 
erally in the right. Neither has he the magnificently 
foolhardy wickedness of a Caesar Borgia, who lives his 
life in open defiance and reckless atrocity. lago has no 
other aim than his own advantage. — Brandes, George, 
1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. 11, p. 108. 



1 88 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



MACBETH 

1605-6 

January 7. — To the Duke's house, and saw "Mac- 
beth," which, though I saw it lately, yet appears a most 
excellent play in all respects, but especially in divertise- 
ment, though it be a deep tragedy; which is a strange 
perfection in a tragedy, it being most proper here, and 
suitable. — Pepys, Samuel, 1666-7, Diary and Corre- 
spondence. 

This play is deservedly celebrated for the propriety of 
its fictions, and solemnity, grandeur, and variety of its 
action, but it has no nice discriminations of character; 
the events are too great to admit the influence of particular 
dispositions, and the course of the action necessarily de- 
termines the conduct of the agents. The danger of am- 
bition is well described; and I know not whether it may 
not be said, in defence of some parts which now seem 
improbable, that, in Shakspeare's time it was necessary 
to warn creduKty against vain and illusive predictions. — 
Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations on Shak- 
speare's Plays. 

Macbeth wants no disguise of his natural disposition, 
for it is not bad; he does not affect more piety than he 
has: on the contrary, a part of his distress arises from a 
real sense of religion: which makes him regret that he 
could not join the chamberlains in prayer for God's 
blessing, and bewail that he has "given his eternal jewel 
to the common enemy of man." He continually re- 
proaches himself for his deeds; no use can harden him: 



MACBETH. 189 

confidence cannot silence, and even despair cannot stifle, 
the cries of his conscience. By the first murder he put 
''rancours in the vessel of his peace;" and of the last he 
owns to Macduff, "My soul is too much charg'd with 
blood of thine already." — Whately, Thomas, 1785- 
1839, Remarks on Some Characters of Shakespere, p. 89. 



Who could exhaust the praise of this sublime work? 
Since "The Furies" of ^Eschylus, nothing so grand and 
terrible has ever been composed. The Witches are not, 
it is true, divine Eumenides, and are not intended to be 
so: they are ignoble and vulgar instruments of hell. A 
German poet therefore very ill understood their meaning, 
when he transformed them into mongrel beings a mixture 
of fates, furies, and enchantresses, and clothed them with 
tragical dignity. Let no man lay hand on Shakspeare's 
works to change anything essential in them; he will be 
sure to punish himself. — Schlegel, Augustus William, 
1809, Dramatic Art and Literature, tr. Black, Lecture XII. 



Macbeth is said to have been the last King of Scotland 
here buried; sixty preceded him, all doubtless as power- 
ful in their day, but now unknown — carent quia vate 
sacro. A few weeks' labour of Shakspeare, an obscure 
player, has done more for the memory of Macbeth than 
all the gifts, wealth, and monuments of this cemetery of 
princes have been able to secure to the rest of its in- 
habitants. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1814, lona^ Diary, 2Sth 
August. 

"Macbeth" (generally speaking) is done upon a stronger 
and more systematic principle of contrast than any other 
of Shakespear's plays. It moves upon the verge of an 



1 90 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

abyss, and is a constant struggle between life and death. 
The action is desperate and the reaction is dreadful. It 
is a huddling together of fierce extremes, a war of oppo- 
site natures which of them shall destroy the other. There 
is nothing but what has a violent end or violent begin- 
nings. The lights and shades are laid on with a deter- 
mined hand; the transitions from triumph to despair, 
from the height of terror to the repose of death, are sud- 
den and startling; every passion brings in its fellow- 
contrary, and the thoughts pitch and jostle against each 
other as in the dark. The whole play is an unruly chaos 
of strange and forbidden things, where the ground rocks 
under our feet. Shakespear's genius here took its full 
swing, and trod upon the farthest bounds of nature and 
passion. This circumstance will account for the abrupt- 
ness and violent antitheses of the style, the throes and 
labour which run through the expression, and from de- 
fects will turn them into beauties. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters 0} Shakespear's Plays, p. 17. 



How admirably Macduff's grief is in harmony with the 
whole play! It rends, not dissolves, the heart. "The 
tune of it goes manly." Thus is Shakspere always mas- 
ter of himself and of his subject, — a genuine Proteus: 
— we see all things in him, as images in a calm lake, 
most distinct, most accurate — only more splendid, more 
glorified. This is correctness in the only philosophical 
sense. But he requires your sympathy and your sub- 
mission; you must have that recipiency of moral impres- 
sion without which the purposes and ends of the drama 
would be frustrated, and the absence of which demon- 
strates an utter want of all imagination, a deadness to 
that necessary pleasure of being innocently — shall I say, 



MACBETH, 191 

deluded ? — or rather, drawn away from ourselves to the 
music of noblest thought in harmonious sounds. Happy 
he, who not only in the public theatre, but in the la- 
bours of a profession, and round the light of his own 
hearth, still carries a heart so pleasure-fraught! — Cole- 
ridge, Samuel Taylor, 181 8, Lectures and Notes on 
Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 379. 



From my boyish days I had always felt a great per- 
plexity on one point in ''Macbeth." It was this: — The 
knocking at the gate which succeeds to the murder ot 
Duncan produced to my feelings an effect for which I 
never could account. The effect was that it reflected 
back upon the murder a peculiar awfulness and a depth 
of solemnity; yet, however obstinately I endeavored with 
my understanding to comprehend this, for many years I 
never could see why it should produce such an effect. 
... At length I solved it to my own satisfaction; and 
my solution is this: — Murder, in ordinary cases, where 
the sympathy is wholly directed to the case of the mur- 
dered person, is an incident of coarse and vulgar horror; 
and for this reason, — that it flings the interest exclu- 
sively upon the natural but ignoble instinct by which we 
cleave to life: an instinct which, as being indispensable 
to the primal law of self-preservation, is the same in kind 
(though different in degree) amongst all living creatures. 
This instinct, therefore, because it annihilates all dis- 
tinctions, and degrades the greatest of men to the level 
of the "poor beetle that we tread on," exhibits human 
nature in its most abject and humiliating attitude. Such 
an attitude would little suit the purposes of the poet. 
What then must he do? He must throw the interest on 
the murderer. Our sympathy must be with him (of 



tg2 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

course I mean a sympathy of comprehension, a sympathy 
by which we enter into his feelings, and are made to under- 
stand them, — not a sympathy of pity or approbation). 
In the murdered person, all strife of thought, all flux 
and reflux of passion and of purpose, are crushed by 
one overwhelming panic ; the fear of instant death smites 
him "with its petrific mace." But in the murderer, such 
a murderer as a poet will condescend to, there must be 
raging some great storm of passion, — jealousy, ambition, 
vengeance, hatred, — which will create a hell within him; 
and into this hell we are to look. — De Quincey, Thomas, 
1823-60, On the Knocking at the Gate in Macbeth^ Col- 
lected Writings, ed. Massoji, vol. x, pp. 385, 391. 



(I c 



Macbeth,' said Goethe, "is Shakespeare's best act- 
ing play, the one in which he shows most understanding 
with respect to the stage." — Eckermann, John Peter, 
1825, Conversations of Goethe, Oct. 15. 



It was my custom to study my characters at night, 
when all the domestic cares and business of the day were 
over. On the night preceding that in which I was to 
appear in this part for the first time, I shut myself up, as 
usual, when all the family were retired, and commenced 
my study of Lady Macbeth. As the character is very 
short, I thought I should soon accomplish it. Being then 
only twenty years of age, I believed, as many others do 
believe, that little more was necessary than to get the 
words into my head; for the necessity of discrimination, 
and the development of character, at that time of my 
life, had scarcely entered into my imagination. But to 
proceed. I went on with tolerable composure, in the si- 
lence of the night (a night I can never forget), till I came 



MACBETH. 193 

to the assassination scene, when the horrors of the scene 
rose to a degree that made it impossible for me to get 
farther. I snatched up my candle, and hurried out of 
the room, in a paroxysm of terror. My dress was of 
silk, and the rustling of it, as I ascended the stairs to go 
to bed, seemed to my panic-struck fancy like the move- 
ment of a spectre pursuing me. At last I reached my 
chamber, where I found my husband fast asleep. I 
clapped my candlestick down upon the table, without the 
power of putting the candle out; and threw myself on my 
bed, without daring to stay even to take off my clothes. 
At peep of day I rose to resume my task; but so little did 
I know of my part when I appeared in it at night, that 
my shame and confusion cured me of procrastinating my 
business for the remainder of my life. — Siddons, Sarah, 
1 83 1? Remarks on the Character of Lady Macbeth, Life 
of Mrs. Siddons by Campbell, vol. 11, p. 35. 



In the mind of Lady Macbeth, ambition is represented 
as the ruling motive, an intense overmastering passion, 
which is gratified at the expense of every just and gen- 
erous principle, and every feminine feeling. In the pur- 
suit of her object, she is cruel, treacherous, and daring. 
She is doubly, trebly dyed in guilt and blood; for the 
murder she instigates is rendered more frightful by dis- 
loyalty and ingratitude, and by the violation of all the 
most sacred claims of kindred and hospitality. When her 
husband's more kindly nature shrinks from the perpetra- 
tion of the deed of horror, she, like an evil genius, whis- 
pers him on to his damnation. The full measure of her 
wickedness is never disguised, the magnitude and atrocity 
of her crime is never extenuated, forgotten, or forgiven, 
in the whole course of the play. . . . Lady Macbeth's 



194 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

amazing power of intellect, her inexorable determination 
of purpose, her superhuman strength of nerve, render her 
as fearful in herself as her deeds are hateful; yet she is 
not a mere monster of depravity, with whom we have 
nothing in common, nor a meteor whose destroying path 
we watch in ignorant affright and amaze. She is a ter- 
rible impersonation of evil passions and mighty powers, 
never so far removed from our nature as to be cast be- 
yond the pale of our sympathies; for the woman herself 
remains a woman to the last — still linked with her sex 
and with humanity, — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, 
Characteristics 0] Women. 



I regard the tragedy of "Macbeth," upon the whole, as 
the greatest treasure of our dramatic literature. We may 
look, as Britons, at Greek sculpture and at Italian paint- 
ings, with a humble consciousness that our native art has 
never reached their perfection; but, in the drama, we can 
confront ^schylus himself with Shakespeare; and of all 
modern theatres, ours alone can compete with the Greek 
in the unborrowed nativeness and sublimity of its super- 
stition. In the grandeur of tragedy, ''Macbeth" has no 
parallel, till we go back to the "Prometheus and the 
Furies" of the Attic stage. I could never produce, if it 
were not digressing too far from my subject, innumerable 
instances of striking similarity between the metaphorical 
mintage of Shakespeare's and of ^Eschylus's style, — a 
similarity, both in beauty and the fault of excess, that, 
unless the contrary had been proved, would lead me to 
suspect our great dramatist to have been a studious Greek 
scholar. But their resemblance arose only from the con- 
sanguinity of nature. — Campbell, Thomas, 1834, Li]e 
0} Mrs. Siddons, vol. 11, p. 6. 



MACBETH. 195 

Kemble styles this the noblest of tragedies, and it is 
natural that he should prefer it to all others of Shak- 
speare, because, assuredly of the historical plays, and 
perhaps of all the plays, Othello alone excepted, it is the 
finest in representation. To read, I own that it is, in 
my opinion, inferior to some others, from the absence of 
the splendid and stately speeches which I have noticed in 
former plays. — Courtenay, Thomas Peregrine, 1840, 
Commentaries on the Historical Plays of Shakspeare, vol. 
II, p. 208. 

This play has more the air of being a draft, if not 
unfinished, yet requiring to be retouched and written 
more in full by its author, than any other of his greater 
works. Full of incident as it is, it is still one of the 
shortest of the plays. Like "The Tempest" in this 
respect, we feel that it would be better if it were longer. 
We want more of the subdued and calm. There are also 
more passages than in other plays which seem to be car- 
ried beyond the just limits which part the true sublime 
from the inflated or the obscure, — passages which we 
may suppose to have been in the mind of Johnson when 
he said of the soaring genius of Shakespeare, ^^ sufflamin- 
andus est.'' What might not ''Macbeth" have been had 
the Poet been induced to sit down with the play, as it 
now is, before him, and to direct upon it the full force 
of his judgment and fine taste, removing here and there 
a too luxuriant expression, and giving us here and there 
a breadth of verdure on which the mind might find a 
momentary repose, and refresh itself amidst the multitude 
of exciting incidents which come in too rapid a succession 
upon us! — Hunter, Joseph, 1845, N'ew Illustrations of 
the Life, Studies and Writings of Shakespeare, vol. 11, p. 158. 



196 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

*' Macbeth" seems inspired by the very genius of the 
tempest. This drama shows us the gathering, the dis- 
charge, and the dispelling of a domestic and political 
storm, which takes its peculiar hue fcom the individual 
character of the hero. It is not in the spirit of mischief 
that animates the "weird sisters," nor in the passionate 
and strong-willed ambition of Lady Macbeth, that we 
find the mainspring of this tragedy, but in the dispropor- 
tioned though poetically tempered soul of Macbeth him- 
self. A character like this, of extreme selfishness, with a 
most irritable fancy, must produce, even in ordinary cir- 
cumstances, an excess of morbid apprehensiveness; which, 
however, as we see in him, is not inconsistent with the 
greatest physical courage, but generates of necessity the 
most entire moral cowardice. When, therefore, a man 
like this, ill enough qualified even for the honest and 
straight-forward transactions of life, had brought himself 
to snatch at an ambitious object by the commission of 
one great sanguinary crime, the new and false position in 
which he finds himself by his very success will but startle 
and exasperate him to escape, as Macbeth says, from 
"horrible imaginings" by the perpetration of greater and 
greater actual horrors, till inevitable destruction comes 
upon us amidst universal execration. — Fletcher, George, 
1847, Studies of Shakespeare, p. 109. 



"Macbeth," the most awful creation of the poetic 
mind, is a study every way worthy of those to whom the 
storms of passion present the frequent cause of mental 
disease. — Bucknill, John Charles, M.D., 1859-67, 
The Mad Folk of Shakespeare, p. 1. 



MACBETH. 197 

It is, in fact, a powerful psychological study. Shake- 
speare depicts a state of mind not only novel, but highly 
dramatic. He has given us hardened villains, before, in 
his other pieces. But here he unveils the process by 
which the thought of crime penetrates a virtuous soul, 
the destruction it causes as soon as it gains lodgement 
there, and to what extremities it drags him who has not 
had strength enough to repel on its first appearance. 
Macbeth is not wicked like lago, or Edmund in ''Lear." 
He even begins well. He has defended his country and 
his king most zealously, and covered himself with glory 
on two battle-fields. His comrades in arms accord him 
ungrudging praise, and Duncan knows not how to re- 
compense his deserts. But this brave soldier bears within 
him the germ of ambition; and, without as yet knowing 
the height of his aspirations, without even defining to 
himself his vague desires, he awakes to a simultaneous 
consciousness of his own power and the temptation to make 
trial of it. — Mezieres, A., i860, Shakes p ear e, ses (Euvres 
et ses Critiques. 

As regards wealth of thought, "Macbeth" ranks far 
below "Hamlet;" it lacks the wide, free, historic perfec- 
tion which in "Julius Caesar" raises us above the horror 
of his tragic fall. It cannot be compared with "Othello" 
for completeness, depth of plot, or full, rich illustration 
of character. But, in our opinion, it excels all that Shak- 
speare, or any other poet, has created, in the simple force 
of the harmonious, majestic current of its action, in the 
transparency of its plan, in the nervous power and bold 
sweep of its language, and in its prodigal wealth of poet- 
ical coloring. — Kreyssig, F., 1862, Vorlesungen iiber 
Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 346. 



198 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

It is the prospective and retrospective representation of 
Macbeth's remorse that constitutes the element of horror 
in the play. Almost as much pity is felt for the murderer 
as for his victim. The true title of the tragedy might be, 
crime, remorse, and expiation. Lady Macbeth alone ap- 
pears to stand outside of the pale of morality, but her 
life ends before the expiatory death of her husband, 
whose daring villainy, incapable of plotting or of endur- 
ing the crime, is unable to submit to its punishment. All 
the great crimes in Shakespeare are inspired by wicked 
women; men may execute, but cannot conceive them- 
The creature of sentiment is more depraved than the man 
of crime. The imagination of woman dallies more easily 
with crime than the hand of man is raised against his 
victim. We feel that in committing the murder Macbeth 
succumbed to a strength of depravity superior to his 
own. This strength of depravity is the ardent imagina- 
tion of his wife. . . . Such is ''Macbeth!" It is Crime! 
It is Remorse! It is the weakness of a strong man op- 
posed to the seductions of a perverted and passionate 
woman! Above all, it is the immediate expiation of 
crime by the secret vengeance of God! Herein lies the 
invincible morality of Shakespeare. The Poet is in har- 
mony with God. — Lamartine, Alphonse Marie Louis 
DE, 1865, Shakespeare ct son (Euvre. 



The popular misunderstanding of the character of 
Macbeth is due, probably, to the description his wife 
gives of him in the first interview we have with her. . . . 
"Yet do I fear thy nature," etc. But it is obvious that 
so far as we see Macbeth in the play, nothing could be 
wider of the mark than this estimate of him. . . . For 
nothing can be farther from the truth than the popular 



MACBETH. 199 

view of Lady Macbeth. That wonderful characteristic 
of genius, which enables it to put on the character it con- 
ceives, reaches its highest manifestation in this marvel- 
lous portrait. . . . But all the truth and force of the 
delineation are lost when Lady Macbeth is regarded as a 
mere tempter and fiend. She is, in reality, nothing of 
the kind. Her part is simply that of a woman and a 
wife who shares her husband's ambition and supports 
him in it. So far from suggesting his crimes, she distinctly 
declares that he broke the enterprise to her. . . . We 
have seen that, before he saw his wife, Macbeth had made 
up his mind to this first step in his career of crime. All 
that she does is to back him in the execution of his own 
design. — Clayden, P. W., 1867, Macbeth and Lady 
Macbeth^ Fortnightly Review, vol. 8, pp. 163, 164. 



The history of Macbeth is the story of a moral poison- 
ing. Frank, sociable, and generous, though tainted from 
the first by base and ambitious thoughts, he is urged on 
to his ruin by the prophetic warnings of the witches, by 
golden opportunity, and the instigations of his wife. He 
has physical but lacks moral courage. The suggestion of 
a possible crown haunts him. He struggles, but he is a 
lion in the toils. He feels the resistless traction of fate, 
sees himself on the verge of an abyss, and his brain is 
filled with phantoms. — Welsh, Alfred H., 1882, Devel- 
opment of English Literature and Language, vol. i, p. 384. 



Macbeth is not, as is too often represented, a noisy 
swash-buckler; he is a full-furnished, ambitious man. In 
the scene with Duncan, the excess of courtesy adds a 
touch to the tragedy. It is like Clytemnestra's profusion 
to Agamemnon; who, by the way, always strikes me as 



200 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

uncommonly cold and haughty to his wife whom he had 
not seen for years. — Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 1883, 
Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir by His Son, vol. 11, p. 
292. 

She would never have been the Lady Macbeth we see 
in Shakespeare's play if she had not been led to it by love 
for her husband, by her ambition in his interest. Her 
crime is not innate cruelty, but hardness of heart and 
unwomanly energy, though the former is even not strong 
enough to withhold her from tender feelings; and with a 
different husband she would have been a different wife. 
— Leo, F. a., 1885, Shakespeare-Notes, p. 68. 



Stands alone by its grand simplicity of conception and 
the originality of its execution, giving us in a few bold 
strokes a consummate picture of the strange workings of 
a human soul. — Ten Brink, Bernhard, 1892-95, Five 
Lectures on Shakespeare, tr. Franklin, p. 87. 



I confess that this play seems to me one of Shake- 
speare's less interesting efforts; not from the artistic, but 
from the purely human point of view. It is a rich, 
highly moral melodrama; but only at occasional points in 
it do I feel the beating of Shakespeare's heart. My com- 
parative coolness of feeling towards ''Macbeth" may 
possibly be due in a considerable degree to the shame- 
fully mutilated form in which this tragedy has been 
handed down to us. Who knows what it may have been 
when it came from Shakespeare's own hand! The text 
we possess, which was not printed till long after the 
poet's death, is clipped, pruned, and compressed for act- 
ing purposes. We can feel distinctly where the gaps 



KING LEAR. 201 

occur, but that is of no avail. . . . Shakespeare has 
employed in the treatment of this subject a style that 
suits it — vehement to violence, compressed to congestion 
— figures treading upon each other's heels. — Brandes, 
George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study , 
vol. II, pp. 99, lOI. 



KING LEAR 

1605-6 

M. William Shak-speare: | HIS | True Chronicle His- 
toric of the life | and death of King lear and his three 
I Daughters | With the vn fortunate life of Edgar, sonne \ 
and heire to the Earle of Gloster, and his | sullen and 
assumed humor of | Tom of Bedlam: | As it was played 
before the Kings Maiestie at Whitehall vpon \ S. Stephans 
night in Christmas Hollidayes. \ By his Maiesties seruants 
playing vsually at the Gloabe | on the Bancke-side. | 
LONDON. I Printed for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be 
sold at his shop in Pauls \ Church-yard at the signe of 
the Pide Bull neere | S* Austins Gate. 1608. — Title 
Page of First Edition, 1608. 



Nothing but the Power of your Perswasion, and my 
Zeal for all the Remains of Shakespear, cou'd have wrought 
me to so bold an Undertaking. I found that the New- 
modelling of this Story, wou'd force me sometimes on 
the difficult Task of making the chiefest Persons speak 
something like their Character, on Matter whereof I had 
no Ground in my Author. Lear's real and Edgar's pre- 
tended Madness have so much of extravagant Nature (I 



202 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

know not how else to express it) as cou'd never have 
started but from our Shakes pear'' s Creating Fancy. The 
Images and Language are so odd and surprizing, and 
yet so agreeable and proper, that whilst we grant that 
none but Shakespear cou'd have form'd such Concep- 
tions; yet we are satisfied that they were the only Things 
in the World that ought to be said on those Occasions. 
— Tate, Nahum, i68i. The History of King Lear, Dedi- 
cation. 

"King Lear" is an admirable tragedy ... as Shake- 
speare wrote it; but as it is reformed according to the 
chimerical notion of poetical justice, in my humble opinion 
it has lost half its beauty. — Addison, Joseph, 1711, The 
Spectator, No. 40, April 16. 



Lear does not run mad till the third Act; yet his be- 
haviour towards Cordelia in the first scene has all the 
appearance of a judgement totally depraved. . . . Lear 
banishes (Cordelia) his sight, consigns her over to want, 
and loads her with the deepest imprecations. What less 
than Phrenzy can inspire a rage so groundless, and a 
conduct so absurd? Lear, while in his senses, acts like 
a madman, and from his first appearance to his last 
seems to be wholly deprived of his reason. — Lennox, 
Charlotte, 1753-4, Shakespear Illustrated, vol. iii, p. 287. 



Can pity be more beautifully awakened than in the 
sufferings of the loyal and venerable Gloster, the miseries 
unnaturally inflicted on the tender, credulous, choleric, 
but noble Lear, or the unavailing filial piety of the angelic 
Cordelia? Can terror be more tremendously roused than 
by the wickedness of Goneril and Regan, or the blind 



KING LEAR. 203 

adoption of Edmund by Gloster? Can delight be more 
legitimately gratified than by the conquest of struggling 
virtue over inordinate vice? — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, 
A Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 321. 



We have here a plentiful crop of blunders. Kent talks, 
like a good Protestant, of eating no fish; and Gloster, of 
not standing in need of spectacles. We have Turks, 
Bedlam beggars, child Roland, Saint Withold, a Marshal 
of France, steeples, dollars, paper, holy water, and the 
French disease. There is an allusion to the old theatrical 
moralities; and Nero, who did not live till several hun- 
dred years after Lear, is mentioned by Edgar as an 
angler in the lake of darkness. — Douce, Francis, 1807, 
Illustrations of Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 295. 



Were Lear alone to suffer from his daughters, the im- 
pression would be limited to the powerful compassion 
felt by us for his private misfortune. But two such 
unheard of examples taking place at the same time have 
the appearance of a great commotion in the moral world: 
the picture becomes gigantic, and fills us with such alarm 
as we should entertain at the idea that the heavenly 
bodies might one day fall out of their regular orbits. — 
ScHLEGEL, Augustus William, 1809, Dramatic Art and 
Literature, tr. Black, Lecture XII. 



So to see Lear acted, — to see an old man tottering 
about the stage with a walking-stick, turned out of doors 
by his daughters in a rainy night, has nothing in it but 
what is painful and disgusting. We want to take him 
into shelter and relieve him. That is all the feeling 
which the acting of Lear ever produced in me. But the 



204 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Lear of Shakespeare cannot be acted. The contemptible 
machinery by which they mimic the storm which he goes 
out in, is not more inadequate to represent the horrors of 
the real elements, than any actor can be to represent 
Lear; they might more easily propose to personate the 
Satan of Milton upon a stage, or one of Michael Angelo's 
terrible figures. The greatness of Lear is not in corporal 
dimension, but in intellectual: the explosions of passion 
are terrible as a volcano: they are storms turning up and 
disclosing to the bottom that sea his mind, with all its 
vast riches. It is his mind which is laid bare. This 
case of flesh and blood seems too insignificant to be 
thought on; even as he himself neglects it. On the stage 
we see nothing but corporal infirmities and weakness, the 
impotence of rage; while we read it, we see not Lear, but 
we are Lear, — we are in his mind, we are sustained by 
a grandeur which baffles the malice of daughters and 
storms; in the aberrations of his reason, we discover a 
mighty irregular power of reasoning, immethodized from 
the ordinary purposes of life, but exerting its powers, as 
the wind blows where it listeth, at will upon the corrup- 
tions and abuses of mankind. — Lamb, Charles, i8io? 
On The Tragedies of Shakespeare. 



It is then the best of all Shakespear's plays, for it is 
the one in which he was the most in earnest. He was 
here fairly caught in the web of his own imagination. 
The passion which he has taken as his subject is that 
which strikes its root deepest into the human heart, of 
which the bond is the hardest to be unloosed; and the 
cancelling and tearing to pieces of which gives the great- 
est revulsion to the frame. This depth of nature, this 
force of passion, this tug and war of the elements of 



KING LEAR. 205 

our being, this firm faith in filial piety, and the giddy 
anarchy and whirling tumult of the thoughts at finding 
this prop failing it, the contrast between the fixed, im- 
moveable basis of natural affection, and the rapid, irreg- 
ular starts of imagination, suddenly wrenched from all its 
accustomed holds and resting-places in the soul, this is 
what Shakespear has given, and what nobody else but 
he could give. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters 
of Shakes pear's Plays, p. 108. 



Of all Shakspere's plays ''Macbeth" is the most rapid, 
''Hamlet" the slowest, in movement. "Lear" combines 
length with rapidity, — like the hurricane and the whirl- 
pool, absorbing while it advances. It begins as a stormy 
day in summer, with brightness; but that brightness is 
lurid, and anticipates the tempest. — Coleridge, Samuel 
Taylor, 1818, Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. 
Ashe, p. 329. 

The modern practice of blending comedy with tragedy, 
though liable to great abuse in point of practice, is un- 
doubtedly an extension of the dramatic circle; but the 
comedy should be as in "King Lear," universal, ideal, 
and sublime. It is perhaps the intervention of this 
principle which determines the balance in favour of 
"King Lear" against "(Edipus Tyrannus" or the "Aga- 
memnon," or, if you will, the trilogies with which they 
are connected; unless the intense power of the choral 
poetry, especially that of the latter, should be considered 
as restoring the equilibrium. "King Lear," if it can 
sustain this comparison, may be judged to be the most 
perfect specimen of the dramatic art existing in the 
world; in spite of the narrow conditions to which the 



206 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

poet was subjected by the ignorance of the philosophy of 
the drama which has prevailed in modern Europe. — 
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1822? A Defence of Poetry, 
Works, ed. Forman, vol. iii, p. 114. 



There is in the beauty of Cordelia's character an effect 
too sacred for words, and almost too deep for tears; 
within her heart is a fathomless well of purest affection, 
but its waters sleep in silence and obscurity, — never 
failing in their depth and never overflowing in their ful- 
ness. Every thing in her seems to lie beyond our view, 
and affects us in a manner which we feel rather than 
perceive. The character appears to have no surface, no 
salient points upon which the fancy can readily seize: 
there is little external development of intellect, less of 
passion, and still less of imagination. It is completely 
made out in the course of a few scenes, and we are 
surprised to find that in those few scenes there is a 
matter for a life of reflection, and materials enough for 
twenty heroines. If "Lear" be the grandest of Shak- 
speare's tragedies, Cordelia in herself, as a human being, 
governed by the purest and holiest impulses and mo- 
tives, the most refined from all dross of selfishness and 
passion, approaches near to perfection; and in her adap- 
tation, as a dramatic personage, to a determinate plan of 
action, may be pronounced altogether perfect. The char- 
acter, to speak of it critically as a poetical conception, 
is not, however^ to be comprehended at once, or easily; 
and in the same manner Cordelia, as a woman, is one 
whom we must have loved before we could have known 
her, and known her long before we could have known 
her truly. — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Charac- 
teristics oj Women. 



KING LEAR. 20/ 

What "Lear" has in common with '^ Othello" is the 
soul of the Poet, dark, melancholy, deeply wounded, well- 
nigh shattered by the world; only here, in "Lear," still 
more than in "Othello," has he concentrated in his 
work, painted in burning colors, all the bitterness which 
the depravity of human nature must generate in a sensi- 
tive heart. — Rapp, Moritz, 1843, Shakspere's Schau- 
spiele, Einleitung, p. y. 

Lear's is a genuine case of insanity from the beginning 
to the end; such as we often see in aged persons. On 
reading it we cannot divest ourselves of the idea that it 
is a real case of insanity correctly reported. Still, we 
apprehend, the play, or case, is generally misunderstood. 
The general belief is, that the insanity of Lear originated 
solely from the ill-treatment of his daughters, while in 
truth he was insane before that, from the beginning of 
the play, when he gave his kingdom away, and banished, 
as it were, Cordelia and Kent, and abused his servants. 
The ill-usage of his daughters only aggravated the dis- 
ease, and drove him to raving madness. Had it been 
otherwise, the case, as one of insanity, would have been 
inconsistent and very unusual. — Brigham, A., M.D., 
1844, Shakespeare^ s Illustrations of Insanity, American 
Journal of Insanity, July. 



Goethe has pronounced the first scene absurd. More 
recent criticism, certainly in view of that judgment harsh, 
but not without reason, has defended it as unobjection- 
able, but yet hardly with a convincing, decisive result. 
... It appears to me that Shakespeare here, in giving 
motive and a dramatic form to the legend, is lacking in 
his usual care. This want is assuredly considerably alle- 



2o8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

viated by the excellent elucidations of the scenes that 
follow. But the satisfaction subsequently afforded to the 
understanding cannot be any compensation to us if the 
imagination has previously had just reason to be offended. 
• — Kreyssig, F., 1862, Vorlesungen iiber Shakespeare, 
vol. II, p. 316. 

In "King Lear," with its ever-thickening gloom and 
deepening sorrows, we see the tragic fate which, as the 
world of man is constituted, too often waits on folly no 
less than on guilt, and involves the innocent alike with 
the guilty in the train of terrible consequences. — Ar- 
nold, Thomas, 1862-87, A Manual of English Literature^ 
American ed., p. 109. 

"King Lear" is, indeed, the greatest single achieve- 
ment in poetry of the Teutonic, or Northern, genius. By 
its largeness of conception and the variety of its details, 
by its revelation of a harmony existing between the forces 
of nature and the passions of man, by its grotesqueness 
and its sublimity, its own kinship with the great cathe- 
drals of Gothic architecture. To conceive, to compass, 
to comprehend, at once in its stupendous unity and in its 
almost endless variety, a building like the cathedral of 
Rheims, or that of Cologne, is a feat which might seem 
to defy the most athletic imagination. But the impres- 
sion which Shakspere's tragedy produces, while equally 
large — almost monstrous — and equally intricate, lacks 
the material fixity and determinateness of that produced 
by these great works in stone. Everything in the tragedy 
is in motion, and the motion is that of a tempest. — 
DowDEN, Edward, 1875-80, Shakspere, A Critical Study 
of His Mind and Art, p. 229. 



KING LEAR. 209 

"King Lear" deals- especially with the natural man as 
opposed to the artificial man. When the King saw Ed- 
gar, then a Tom o' Bedlam, in the great storm scene, he 
exclaims — "Is man no more than this? Consider him 
well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, 
the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three 
on 's (himself, the Fool, Kent) are sophisticated! Thou 
art the thing itself: unaccomodated man is no more but 
such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, 
you lendings! Come; unbutton here." And he tears 
his clothes off him. And this bare-stripped figure, in 
that awful scene, may serve as an image of the society the 
play represents. It is a society with all its disguises torn 
off. The passions walk abroad, bold and confident. 
Greed lifts up its head unabashed; Lust scorns all holy 
ties; Wrath rages like a tempest. A fearful earth, in- 
deed, if given over to such accursed powers! But it is 
not so. There is also the passion of Love, and through- 
out the play love is performing its secret ministry. Good 
and evil close in a fierce struggle, as always where there 
is life, and not mere death; and in the end good prevails, 
as in the end it must prevail: for evil has not only good 
to encounter, but it has to fight with itself: it is essentially 
self-consuming. So that in this play we have presented 
to us humanity in its purest and simplest elements — hu- 
manity unsophisticated, denuded of all its "lendings," 
with its natural impulses all unchecked and potent. — 
Hales, John W., 1875-84, Notes and Essays on Shake- 
speare, p. 252. 

Cordelia is as the sun above the deeps of hell shown 
in Goneril and Regan. One can hardly help wishing 
that Shakspere had followed the old story told by Layamon 



2IO WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

and other repeaters of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and made 
Cordelia set her father on the throne again, and reign 
after him for a while in peace. But the tragedian, the 
preacher of Shakspere's Third-Period lesson, did wisely 
for his art and meaning in letting the daughter and father 
He in one grave. — Furnivall, Frederick James, 1877, 
ed. The Leopold Shakspere, Introduction to the Play. 



Of all Shakespeare's plays, ''King Lear" is unques- 
tionably that in which he has come nearest to the height 
and to the likeness of the one tragic poet on any side 
greater than himself whom the world in all its ages has 
ever seen born of time. It is by far the most iEschylean 
of his works; the most elemental and primaeval, the most 
oceanic and Titanic in conception. He deals here with 
no subtleties as in "Hamlet," with no conventions as in 
"Othello:" there is no question of "a divided duty" or 
a problem half insoluble, a matter of country and con- 
nection, of family or of race; we look upward and down- 
ward, and in vain, into the deepest things of nature, into 
the highest things of providence; to the roots of life, and 
to the stars; from the roots that no God waters to the 
stars which give no man light; over a world full of death 
and life without resting-place or guidance. — Swinburne, 
Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 
170. 

"'King Lear" cannot possibly be acted. It is too titanic. 
At the beginning of the play Lear, in his old age, has 
grown half mad, choleric and despotic, and therefore 
cannot brook Cordelia's silence. This play shows a state 
of society where men's passions are savage and uncurbed. 
No play like this anywhere — not even the "Agamemnon" 



TROILUS AND CRESS ID A. 211 

— is so terrifically human. — Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 
1883 Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir by His Son, vol. 
II, p. 292* 

It is in ''King Lear" that the poet attains the summit 
of his tragic powers. . . . Higher than in ''Lear" 
Shakespeare could not rise. — Ten Brink, Bernhard, 
1892-95, Five Lectures on Shakespeare, tr. Franklin^ p. 
87. 

"Lear" is the greatest problem Shakespeare had yet 
proposed to himself, all the agonies and horrors of the 
world compressed into five short acts. The impression 
of "Lear" may be summed up in the words: a world- 
catastrophe. Shakespeare is no longer minded to depict 
anything else. What is echoing in his ears, what is filling 
his mind, is the crash of a ruining world. — Brandes, 
George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, 
vol. I, p. 283. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 

1606-7 

The I Famous Historie of | Troylus and Cresseid. ] 
Excellently expressing the beginning \ of their loues, with 
the conceited wooing | of Pandarus Prince of Licia. \ 
Written by William Shakespeare. | London | Imprinted 
by G. Eld for R. Bonian and H. Walley, and | are to be 
sold at the spred Eagle in Paules | Church-yeard, ouer 
against the | great North doore, | 1609. — Title Page 
of First Edition, 1609. 



212 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

A Never writer to an ever reader. News. Eter- 
nal reader, you have here a new play, never staled with 
the stage, never clapper-clawed with the palms of the 
vulgar, and yet passing full of the palm comical; for it 
is a birth of your brain, that never undertook anything 
comical vainly; and were but the vain names of comedies 
changed for the titles of commodities, or of plays for 
pleas, you should see all those grand censors, that now 
style them such vanities, flock to them for the main grace 
of their gravities; especially this author's comedies, that 
are so framed to the life, that they serve for the most 
common commentaries of all the actions of our lives, 
showing such a dexterity and power of wit, that the most 
displeased with plays are pleased with his comedies. . . . 
Amongst all there is none more witty than this: and had 
I time I would com-ment upon it, though I know it needs 
not (for so much as will make you think your testern 
well bestowed), but for so much worth as even poor I 
know to be stuffed in it. It deserves such a labour, as 
well as the best comedy in Terence or Plautus. And 
believe this, that when he is gone, and his comedies out 
of sale, you will scramble for them, and set up a new 
English Inquisition. Take this for a warning, and at 
the peril of your pleasures' loss and judgments, refuse 
not, nor like this the less for not being sullied with thje 
smoky breath of the multitude; but thank fortune for the 
scape it hath made amongst you, since by the grand 
possessors' wills I believe you should have prayed for 
them rather than been prayed. And so I leave all such 
to be prayed for (for the states of their wit's healths) 
that will not praise it. Vale. — Preface to First 
Edition, 1609. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 213 

Troy. Come, Cressida, my cresset light, 
Thy face doth shine both day and night, 
Behold, behold thy garter blue 
Thy knight his valiant elbow wears, 
That when he shakes his furious speaee. 
The foe, in shivering fearful sort, 
May lay him down in death to snort. 

Cress. O knight, with valour in thy face. 
Here take my skreene, w^ear it for grace; 
Within they helmet put the same, 
Therewith to make thy enemies lame. 
— Anon, 1603, Histriomastix. 



The Poet ^schylus was held in the same veneration by 
the Athenians of after Ages as Shakespear is by us; . . . 
though the difficulties of altering are greater, and our 
reverence for Shakespear much more just, than that of 
the Grecians for ^schylus. . . . Yet it must be allowed 
to the present age, that the tongue in general is so much 
refined since Shakespear's time, that many of his words, 
and more of his phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of 
those which we understand, some are ungrammatical, 
others coarse; and his whole stile is so pestered with fig- 
urative expressions, that it is as affected as it is obscure. 
It is true, that in his latter plays he had worn off some- 
what of the rust; but the tragedy, which I have under- 
taken to correct, was in all probability one of his first 
endeavours on the stage. . . . Shakespeare (as I hinted), 
in the apprenticeship of his writing, modeled it into that 
play, which is now called by the name of "Troilus and 
Cressida;" but so lamely is it left to us, that it is not 
divided into acts; which fault I ascribe to the actors who 
printed it after Shakespear's death; and that too so care- 
lesly, that a more uncorrect copy I never saw. For the 



214 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

play itself, the author seems to have begun it with some 
fire; the characters of Pandarus and Thersites are prom- 
ising enough; but as if he grew weary of his task, after 
an entrance or two, he lets them fall: and the latter part 
of the tragedy is nothing but a confusion of drums and 
trumpets, excursions and alarms. The chief persons, 
who give name to the tragedy, are left alive: Cressida is 
false, and is not punished. Yet, after all, because the 
play was Shakespear's, and that there appeared in some 
places of it the admirable genius of the author, I under- 
took to remove that heap of rubbish under which many 
excellent thoughts lay wholly buried. — Dryden, John, 
1679, Troilus and Cressida, Preface, Works, ed. Scott and 
Saintsbury, vol. vi, pp. 254, 255. 



This play, though miserably lame in its plan, has lines 
in which all the genius of Shakspeare burns out. — 
Gary, Henry Francis, 1797, Memoirs, vol. i, p. 108. 



The historical play of "Troilus and Cressida" exhibits 
as full a specimen of the different styles in which this 
wonderful writer was qualified to excel, as is to be found 
in any of his works. . . . The great beauty of this play, 
as it is of all the genuine writings of Shakespear, beyond 
all didactic morality, beyond all mere flights of fancy, 
and beyond all sublime, a beauty entirely his own, and 
in which no writer ancient or modern can enter into com- 
petition with him, is that his men are men; his sentiments 
are living, and his characters marked with those delicate, 
evanescent, undefinable touches which identify them with 
the great delineations of nature. . . . The whole cata- 
logue of the dramatis personce in the play of ''Troilus 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 21$ 

and Cressida," so far as they depend upon a rich and 
original vein of humour in the author, are drawn with a 
felicity which never was surpassed. The genius of Homer 
has been a topic of admiration to almost every genera- 
tion of men since the period in which he wrote. But his 
characters will not bear the slightest comparison with the 
delineation of the same characters as they stand in Shake- 
speare. — Godwin, William, 1803, Li]e of Geoffrey 
Chaucer, vol. 1, pp. 503, 505, 509. 



Hector quotes Aristotle; Ulysses speaks of the bull- 
bearing Milo, and Pandarus of a man born in April. 
Friday and Sunday and even minced-pies with dates in 
them are introduced. — Douce, Francis, 1807, Illustra- 
tions of Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 291. 



This is one of the most loose and desultory of our 
author's plays: it rambles on just as it happens, but it 
overtakes, together with some indifferent matter, a pro- 
digious number of fine things in its way. Troilus him- 
self is no character: he is merely a common lover: but 
Cressida and her uncle Pandarus are hit off with pro- 
verbial truth. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters 
of Shakespear's Plays. 

There is no one of Shakspere's plays harder to charac- 
terize. ... I am half inclined to believe, that Shak- 
spere's main object, or shall I rather say, his ruling im- 
pulse, was to translate the poetic heroes of paganism into 
the not less rude, but more intellectually vigorous, and 
more featurely, warriors of Christian chivalry — and to 
substantiate the distinct and graceful profiles or outlines 



2l6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

of the Homeric epic into the flesh and blood of the ro- 
mantic drama, — in short, to give a grand history-piece 
in the robust style of Albert Durer. — Coleridge, Sam- 
uel Taylor, i8i8. Lectures and Notes on Shakspere, ed. 
Ashe, pp. 306, 308. 

Would you see his mind unfettered, read ''Troilus and 
Cressida," where he treats the materials of the "Iliad" 
in his own fashion. — Eckermann, John Peter, 1825, 
Conversations of Goethe. 



The play is, in all respects, a very remarkable and 
singular reproduction; and it has perplexed many a critic, 
not, as usual, by smaller difficulties of readings and in- 
terpretation, but by doubts as to the author's design and 
spirit. Its beauties are of the highest order. It contains 
passages fraught with moral truth and political wisdom — 
high truths, in large and philosophical discourse, such as 
remind us of the loftiest disquisitions of Hooker, or 
Jeremy Taylor, on the foundations of social law. . . . 
Nor is there any drama more rich in variety and truth of 
character. . . . With all this, there is large alloy of in- 
ferior matter, such as Shakespeare too often permitted 
himself to use, in filling up the chasms of the scene, be- 
tween loftier and brighter thoughts. More especially is 
there felt, by every reader, a sense of disappointment at 
the unsatisfactory effect of the whole, arising mainly 
from the want of unity in that effect, and in the interest 
of the plot — at the desultory and purposeless succession 
of incident and dialogue, all resembling (as Walter Scott 
well observes) ''a legend, or a chronicle, rather than a 
dramatic composition." — Verplanck, Gulian Cromme- 
UN, 1844-47, ed. The Illustrated Shakespeare. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 21 J 

''Troilus and Cressida" is Shakespeare's wisest play in 
the way of worldly wisdom. It is filled choke-full of sen- 
tentious, and in most cases slightly satirical revelations 
of human nature, uttered with a felicity of phrase and an 
impressiveness of metaphor that make each one seem 
like a beam of light shot into the recesses of man's heart. 
... If we would know what Shakespeare thought of 
men and their motives after he reached maturity, we 
have but to read this drama; drama it is; but with what 
other character, who shall say? For, like the world's 
pageant, it is neither tragedy nor comedy, but a tragi- 
comic history, in which the intrigues of amorous men 
and light-o'-loves and the brokerage of panders are 
mingled with the deliberations of sages and the strife 
and the death of heroes. — White, Richard Grant, 
1877, On Reading Shakespeare, Galaxy, vol. 23, pp. 233, 
235- 

This is the most difficult of all Shakspere's plays to 
deal with, as well for date as position. . . . The play is 
evidently written in ill-humour with mankind; it is a 
bitter satire. Its purpose is not to show virtue her own 
feature, but contemptible weakness, paltry vanity, false- 
hood (like scorn), their own image. . . . Shakspere's 
treatment of Chaucer's heroine, Cressida, is, too, a shock 
to any lover of the early poet's work. To have the 
beautiful Cressida, hesitating, palpitating like the night- 
ingale, before her sin; driven by force of hard circum- 
stances which she could not control into unfaithfulness to 
her love; to have this Cressida, whom Chaucer spared for 
very ruth, set before us as a mere shameless wanton, 
making eyes at all the men she sees, and showing her 
looseness in the movement of every limb, is a terrible 



2l8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

blow. But whatever may have been Shakspere's motive 
in this play, we certainly have in it his least pleasing pro- 
duction. There is no relief to the patchery, the jugglery, 
and the knavery, except the generous welcome of Nestor 
to Hector in the Grecian camp, and his frank praise of 
the gallant Trojan, who, labouring for Destiny, made 
cruel way through ranks of Greekish youth. — Furni- 
VALL, Frederick James, 1877, ed. The Leopold Shakspere. 



The point of special import and significance is that 
Shakespeare always shows a predilection for the Trojans, 
while the Greeks find but little favour in his sight. This 
undoubted bias on his part exhibits itself in an especially 
lively manner, and has widest scope, in ''Troilus and 
Cressida." There are far grander works amongst Shake- 
speare's plays, but there is none more curious, — there is 
none that afifords more matter for reflection and com- 
mentary in the realms, not only of learning and of history, 
but also of aesthetics, than does ''Troilus and Cressida." 
— Staffer, Paul, 1880, Shakespeare and Classical An- 
tiquity, tr. Carey, p. 157. 



In spite of the admirable characterization in "Troilus 
and Cressida," and in spite of the host of imperishable 
sayings marked by a wealth of practical wisdom, there is 
no other drama of Shakespeare which appeals to us so 
little, which creates so unpleasing an impression. — Ten 
Brink, Bernhard, 1892-95, Five Lectures on Shake- 
speare, tr. Franklin, p. 93. 



The efifect of anti-climax and of all diminishing series 
is an unsatisfactory one. But the theme of the play is 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 219 

the destruction of system and unity, the factious disor- 
ganization of the Grecian camp; it is a picture of disorder 
and the overthrow of rule; and it is quite possible that the 
dramatist, whose genius was of the boldest and most 
innovating character, designedly left the picture without 
aesthetic totality in order to enhance the effect and deepen 
the impression made by the portrayal of principles which 
are the source of all imbecility. — Ruggles, Henry J., 
1895, ^^^ Plays of Shakespeare Founded on Literary 
Forms, p. 399. 

It was a curious coincidence that Shakespeare should 
lay hands on this material just at the most despondent 
period of his life; for nowhere could we well receive a 
deeper impression of modern crudeness and decadence, 
and never could we meet with a fuller expression of 
German-Gothic innate barbarism in relation to Hellenism 
than when we see this great poet of the Northern Re- 
naissance make free with the poetry of the old world. — 
Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Criti- 
cal Study, vol. II, p. 206. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

1606-7 

The highest praise, or rather form of praise, of this 
play, which I can offer in my own mind, is the doubt 
which the perusal always occasions in me, whether the 
"Antony and Cleopatra" is not, in all exhibitions of a 
giant power in its strength and vigour of maturity, a for- 
midable rival of "Macbeth," "Lear," "Hamlet," and 



220 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

"Othello." ... Of all Shakspere's historical plays, 
''Antony and Cleopatra" is by far the most wonderful. 
There is not one in which he has followed history so 
minutely, and yet there are few in which he impresses 
the notion of angelic strength so much; — perhaps none 
in which he impresses it more strongly. This is greatly 
owing to the manner in which the fiery force is sustained 
throughout, and to the numerous momentary flashes of 
nature counteracting the historic abstraction. As a won- 
derful specimen of the way in which Shakspere lives up 
to the very end of this play, read the last part of the con- 
cluding scene. And if you would feel the judgment as 
well as the genius of Shakspere in your hearts' core, 
compare this astonishing drama with Dry den's ''All For 
Love." — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, i8i8. Lectures 
and Notes on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, pp. 315, 316. 



I have not the slightest doubt that Shakspeare's Cleo- 
patra is the real historical Cleopatra — the "Rare Egyp- 
tian" — individualised and placed before us. Her men- 
tal accomplishments, her unequalled grace, her woman's 
wit and woman's wiles, her irresistible allurements, her 
starts of irregular grandeur, her bursts of ungovernable 
temper, her vivacity of imagination, her petulant caprice, 
her fickleness and her falsehood, her tenderness and her 
truth, her childish susceptibility to flattery, her magnifi- 
cent spirit, her royal pride, the gorgeous Eastern colour- 
ing of the character; all these contradictory elements has 
Shakspeare seized, mingled them in their extremes, and 
fused them into one brilliant impersonation of classical 
elegance. Oriental voluptuousness, and gypsy sorcery. — 
Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Characteristics of 
Women. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 221 

I am not aware that this play has been acted in modern 
times; nor do I believe it to be as great a favourite with 
readers in general as the high commendations of modern 
critics would lead me to expect. I know little of the 
histrionic art, but should imagine that Cleopatra, and 
Antony too, in good hands, would be exceedingly attrac- 
tive on the stage; and there, perhaps, relying on the 
interest of the story, and the good acting, we should not 
so much miss that force and dignity of versification which 
captivate us in other plays, of which the plot and scenes 
are less interesting. — Courtenay, Thomas Peregrine, 
1840, Commentaries on the Historical Plays of Shak- 
speare, vol. 11, p. 275. 

But independently of any other indications, it is certain 
that the ripe maturity of poetic mind pervades the whole 
tone of the tragedy, its diction, imagery, characters, 
thoughts. It exhibits itself everywhere, in a copious and 
varied magnificence, as from a mind and memory stored 
with the treasures acquired in its own past intellectual 
efforts, as well as with the knowledge of life and books, 
from all which the dramatic muse (to borrow the Oriental 
imagery which Milton has himself drawn from this very 
tragedy), like 

"the gorgeous East, with liberal hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold." 

Its poetry has an autumnal richness, such as can succeed 
only to the vernal luxuriance of genius, or its fiercer mid- 
summer glow. We need no other proof than that which 
its own abundance affords, that this tragedy is the rich 
product of a mind where, as in Mark Antony's own 
Egypt, his ''Nilus had swelled high," and 



222 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

"when it ebb'd, the seedsman 
Upon its slime and ooze scatter'd his grain, 
Which shortly came to harvest." 

— Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1844-47, ^^' ^^^ 

Illustrated Shakespeare. 



The greatest monument of his dramatic subtlety is the 
tragedy of ''Antony and Cleopatra." With all its noble 
bursts of passion and occasional splendour of description, 
this play has not perhaps the massive breadth of feeling 
and overpowering interest of the four great tragedies, 
''Macbeth," "Hamlet," "Lear," and "Othello;" but it 
is greater even than "Macbeth" and "Othello" in the 
range of its mastery over the fluctuations of profound 
passion: it is the greatest of Shakespeare's plays in the 
dramatist's greatest faculty. The conflict of motives in 
"Hamlet" is an achievement of genius that must always 
be regarded with wonder and reverence; but, to my 
mind, "Antony and Cleopatra" is the dramatist's master- 
piece. One may have less interest in the final end of 
the subtle changes wrought in the hero and heroine: but 
in the pursuit and certain grasp of those changes, Shake- 
speare's dramatic genius appears at its supreme height. 
— MiNTO, William, 1874-85, Characteristics of English 
Poets, p. 318. 

On "Antony and Cleopatra" Shakspere has poured 
out the glory of his genius in profusion, and makes us 
stand by, saddened and distressed, as the noble Antony 
sinks to his ruin, under the gorgeous colouring of the 
Eastern sky, the vicious splendour of the Egyptian queen; 
makes us look with admiring hate on the wonderful pic- 
ture he has drawn, certainly far the most wonderful 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 223 

study of woman he has left us, of that Cleopatra of whom 
Enobarbus, who knew her every turn, said, 

'Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety; other women 
Cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry 
Where most she satisfies." 

That in her, the dark woman of Shakspere's "Sonnets," 
his own fickle, serpent-like, attractive mistress, is to some 
extent embodied, I do not doubt. What a superbly 
sumptuous picture, as if painted by Veronese or Titian, 
is that where Cleopatra first met Antony upon the river 
of Cydnus! How admirably transferred from Plutarch's 
prose! And how that fatal inability to say "No" to 
woman shows us Antony's weakness and the cause of his 
final fall. — Furnivall, Frederick James, 1877, ed. 
The Leopold Shakspere, Introduction to the Play. 



The final impression left upon the mind by this woman, 
in whom there was no real goodness or grandeur of char- 
acter, is that of grace and a fascination that never leave 
her from the beginning to the end, and in her last mo- 
ments, that of majesty. As an example of the magic 
power of beauty and of poetry Shakespeare's Cleopatra 
stands alone. — Staffer, Paul, 1880, Shakespeare and 
Classical Antiquity, tr. Carey, p. 408. 



In the later scenes Antony is still shown as a noble 
ruin. His dealing with Enobarbus, when deserted even 
by that once honest friend, is one clear indication of the 
generosity of Antony's large nature. He beats strong 
wings and lifts his head as if to soar, caught as an eagle 



224 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

in the toils. The strength of his desire towards Cleo- 
patra is the weakness of Antony; the strength of her 
desire towards Antony is the whole strength of Cleopatra. 
Beyond that, her care in life is artifice of her profession 
as a beauty, who, at the age of thirty-eight, cannot afford 
to trust too simply to Nature. She has, in her own 
strength, pathetic traces at the last of that which might 
have been the glory of her womanhood, had not her 
thoughts been low. — Morley, Henry, and Griffin, 
W. Hall, 1895, English Writers, vol. xi, p. 95. 



Who knows! If he himself, William Shakespeare, had 
met her, who knows if he would have escaped with his 
life? And had he not met her? Was it not she whom 
in bygone days he had met and loved, and by whom he 
had been beloved and betrayed? It moved him strongly 
to find Cleopatra described as so dark, so tawny. His 
thoughts dwelt upon this. He too had stood in close re- 
lation to a dark, ensnaring woman — one whom in bitter 
moments he had been tempted to call a gipsy; "a right 
gipsy," as Cleopatra is called in this play, by those who 
are afraid of her or angry with her. She of whom he 
never thought without emotion, his black enchantress, his 
life's angel and fiend, whom he had hated and adored at 
the same time, whom he had despised even while he sued 
for her favour — what was she but a new incarnation of 
that dangerous, ensnaring serpent of the Nile! And how 
nearly had his whole inner world collapsed like a soap- 
bubble in his association with, and separation from, her! 
That would indeed have been the ruin of a world! How 
he had revelled and writhed, exulted and complained in 
those days! played ducks and drakes with his life, squan- 
dered his days and nights! Now he was a maturer man, 



CORIOLANUS. 225 

a gentleman, a landed proprietor and tithe-farmer; but 
in him still lived the artist Bohemian, fitted to mate with 
the gipsy queen. — Brandes, George, 1898, William 
Shakespeare^ A Critical Study, vol. 11, p. 144. 



CORIOLANUS 

1607-8 

He was a man too full of passion and choler, and too 
much given over to self-will and opinion, as one of a high 
mind and great courage, that lacked the gravity and 
affability that is gotten with judgment of learning and 
reason, which only is to be looked for in a governor of 
State: and that remembered not how wilfulness is the 
thing of the world, which a governor of a commonwealth, 
for pleasing, should shun, being that which Plato called 
"solitariness;" as in the end, all men that are wilfully 
given to a self-opinion and obstinate mind, and who 
will never yield to other's reason but to their own, remain 
without company, and forsaken of all men. For a man 
that will live in the world must needs have patience, 
which lusty bloods make but a mock at. So Marcius, 
being a stout man of nature, that never yielded in any 
respect, as one thinking that to overcome always and to 
have the upper hand in all matters, was a token of mag- 
nanimity and of no base and faint courage, which spitteth 
out anger from the most weak and passioned part of the 
beast, much like the matter of an impostume: went home 
to his house, full freighted with spite and malice against 
the people. — North, Sir Thomas, 1579, tr. Plutarch's 
Life of Coriolanus. 



226 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The Tragedy of "Coriolanus" is one of the most 
amusing of our author's performances. The old man's 
merriment in Menenius; the lofty lady's dignity in Volum- 
nia; the bridal modesty in Vergilia; the patrician and 
military haughtiness in Coriolanus; the plebian malignity 
and tribunitian insolence in Brutus and Sicinius, make a 
very pleasing and interesting variety; and the various 
revolutions of the hero's fortune, fill the mind with anx- 
ious curiosity. There is perhaps too much bustle in the 
first act, and too little in the last. — Johnson, Samuel, 
1768, General Observations on Shakespeare's Plays. 



To reduce the history of Coriolanus into a play was one 
of those labours, which our dramatic Hercules has achieved 
in a most wonderful manner; but after all, the labour is 
scarcely worth the pains, for, except the singularly noble 
character of Coriolanus, there is nothing correctly great 
in the piece. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, A Complete His- 
tory of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 340. 



Shakespear has in this play shown himself well versed 
in history and state affairs. ''Coriolanus" is a storehouse 
of political commonplaces. Any one who studies it may 
save himself the trouble of reading Burke's ''Reflections," 
or Paine's "Rights of Man," or the Debates in both 
Houses of Parliament since the French Revolution or our 
own. The arguments for and against aristocracy or 
democracy, on the privileges of the few and the claims of 
the many, on liberty and slavery, power and the abuse of 
it, peace and war, are here very ably handled, with the 
spirit of a poet and the acuteness of a philosopher. Shake- 
spear himself seems to have had a leaning to the arbitrary 



CORIOLANUS. 227 

side of the question, perhaps from some feeling of con- 
tempt for his own origin; and to have spared no occasion 
of bating the rabble. What he says of them is very true: 
what he says of their betters is also very true, though he 
dwells less upon it. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Char- 
acters of Shakespeafs Plays, p. 49. 



In Volumnia, Shakspeare has given us the portrait of 
a Roman matron, conceived in the true antique spirit, 
and finished in every part. Although Coriolanus is the 
hero of the play, yet much of the interest of the action 
and the final catastrophe turn upon the character of his 
mother, Volumnia, and the power she exercised over his 
mind, by which, according to the story, ''she saved Rome 
and lost her son." Her lofty patriotism, her patrician 
haughtiness, her maternal pride, her eloquence, and her 
towering spirit, are exhibited with the utmost power of 
effect; yet the truth of female nature is beautifully pre- 
served, and the portrait, with all its vigour, is without 
harshness. — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Charac- 
teristics of Women. 

The subject of "Coriolanus" is the ruin of a noble life 
through the sin of pride. If duty be the dominant ideal 
with Brutus, and pleasure of a magnificent kind be the 
ideal of Antony and Cleopatra, that which gives tone 
and colour to Coriolanus is an ideal of self-centred power. 
The greatness of Brutus is altogether that of the moral 
conscience; his external figure does not dilate upon the 
world through a golden haze like that of Antony, nor 
bulk massively and tower like that of Coriolanus. Brutus 
venerates his ideals, and venerates himself; but this ven- 
eration of self is in a certain sense disinterested. A 



228 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

haughty and passionate personal feeling, a superb egoism, 
are with Coriolanus the sources of weakness and of 
strength. — Dowden, Edw^ard, 1875-80, Shakspere: A 
Critical Study of his Mind and Art, p. 282. 



A loftier or a more perfect piece of man's work was 
never done in all the world than this tragedy of "Corio- 
lanus." — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A 
Study of Shakespeare, p. 188. 



There is more unity in the tragedy of ''Coriolanus" 
than in either of the other Roman plays; yet, grand and 
powerful as it is, its tragical interest is less than that of 
"Julius Caesar," and its poetical merit less than that of 
"Antony and Cleopatra." There is something hard about 
it, both in sentiment and in style. The delineation of 
social and personal pride is not a subject to evoke much 
sympathy or emotion, and although it may in its course 
reach sublime heights, its sublimity is wholly independent 
of moral greatness. Of all Shakespeare's greater works, 
this is the most difficult to construe; the unintelligibility 
of several passages is doubtless due to some corruption of 
the text, but besides this, the general style is exceedingly 
obscure, and overloaded with metaphorical and elliptical 
expressions. Even the great scene between Coriolanus 
and his mother is not of uniform excellence. — Staffer, 
Paul, 1880, Shakespeare and Classical Antiquity, tr. 
Carey, p. 454. 

"Coriolanus" was directly derived from Sir Thomas 
North's famous version of Plutarch's "Lives of the Noble 
Grecians and Romans," the book to which Shakespeare 
was indebted also for his "Julius Caesar," "Antony and 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 229 

Cleopatra," and, to some extent, for ''Timon of Athens," 
and which has been fittingly described as "most sov- 
ereign in its dominion over the minds of great men in all 
ages." North's monumental version is one of the master- 
pieces of English prose, and no better proof exists than a 
comparison of the play with its original. Shakespeare 
has borrowed North's very vocabulary, and many of his 
most striking effects; so closely does he follow the whole 
history that North's prose may actually assist in restoring 
a defective passage. — Gollancz, Israel, 1896, ed. 
Temple Shakespeare, Coriolanus, Preface. 



TIMON OF ATHENS 

1607-8 

I am now to present your Grace with this History of 
Timon, which you were pleased to tell me you liked, 
and it is the more worthy of you, since it has the inimi- 
table hand of Shakespear in it, which never made more 
Masterly strokes than in this. — Shadwell, Thomas, 
1678, The History of Timon of Athens, the Man-Hater, 
made into a play. Epistle Dedicatory. 



The play of Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore 
strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the 
plan there is not much art, but the incidents are natural, 
and the characters various and exact. The catastrophe 
affords a very powerful warning against that ostentatious 
liberality, which scatters bounty, but confers no benefits, 
and buys flattery, but not friendship. In this tragedy, 



230 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

are many passages perplexed, obscure, and probably cor- 
rupt, which I have endeavoured to rectify, or explain, 
with due dilligence; but, having only one copy, cannot 
promise myself that my endeavours shall be much ap- 
plauded. — Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations 
on Shakspeare's Plays. 

"Timon of Athens" always appeared to us to be 
written with as intense a feeling of his subject as any 
one play of Shakespear. It is one of the few in which 
he seems to be in earnest throughout, never to trifle nor 
go out of his way. He does not relax in his efforts, nor 
lose sight of the unity of his design. It is the only play 
of our author in which spleen is the predominant feeling 
of the mind. It is as much a satire as a play: and con- 
tains some of the finest pieces of invective possible to be 
conceived, both in the snarling, captious answers of the 
cynic Apemantus, and in the impassioned and more ter- 
rible imprecations of Timon. — Hazlitt, William, 181 7- 
69, Characters of Shakespeare's Plays, p. 44. 



"Timon of Athens" forms the beautiful close of Shak- 
speare's poetical career. It reflects more clearly than any 
other piece, the poet's consciousness of the nothingness of 
human life and nature in themselves, and a christian re- 
liance on God, as the source of all that is abiding and per- 
manent. We distinctly see him abandoning the trifling 
pursuits and contentions of this life, for calm heavenly 
meditation; but at the same time we see, that before he 
could arrive at this repose, his path had been crossed by 
many and heavy conflicts. Indeed, when we compare 
this tragedy with others which belong probably to his 
latest labours, the confession is forced from us that his 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 23 I 

view of the world and things, even in its artistic side, 
must have been somewhat troubled in the latter years of 
his career. — Ulrici, Hermann, 1839, Shakspeare's Dra- 
matic Art, p. 243. 

The principle which we seek to establish, namely, that 
the "Timon of Athens" was a play originally produced 
by an artist very inferior to Shakspere, and which prob- 
ably retained possession of the stage for some time in its 
first form; that it has come down to us not only re-written, 
but so far re-modelled that entire scenes of Shakspere 
have been substituted for entire scenes of the elder play; 
and lastly, that this substitution has been almost wholly 
confined to the character of Timon, and that in the de- 
velopment of that character alone, with the exception of 
some few occasional touches here and there, we must look 
for the unity of the Shaksperean conception of the Greek 
Misanthropos — the Timon of Aristophanes and Lucian 
and Plutarch — ''the enemy to mankind," of the popular 
story books — of the "Pleasant Histories and excellent 
Novels," which were greedily devoured by the contempo- 
raries of the boyish Shakspere. — Knight, Charles, 
1849, Studies of Shakspere, bk. ii, ch. iv, p. 70. 



It certainly is not like the sepia sketch of a great master, 
perfect so far as it goes; nor yet like an unfinished picture 
which shews the basis of the artist's work; nor yet like 
those paintings of the old masters, in which the acces- 
sories were filled in by the 'prentice hands of their pupils, 
while the design and prominent figures indicated the taste 
and skill of high genius. It is rather an old painting, 
retouched perhaps in all its parts, and the prominent 
figures entirely remodeled by the hand of the great master, 



232 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

but designed and originally completed by a stranger. 
Of the type of Timon's character there can be no doubt. 
He is unmistakably of the family of Hamlet and Lear. 
The resemblance tQ Lear especially is close; like him at 
first, full of unreasoning confidence; like him at last, full 
of unreasoning hate. — Bucknill, John Charles, M.D,., 
1859-67, The Mad Folk of Shakespeare, p. 236. 



''Timon of Athens" unquestionably contains much 
matter from another hand. . . . The unShakespearian 
characters in the play are three Lords — Lucius, Lucul- 
lus, and Sempronius; three Servants — Flavins (Steward 
always in the Shakespeare part), Flaminius, and Servilius; 
three Strangers; three Creditors — Hortensius, Philotus, 
and 2d Varro; three Masquers; and the Soldier. — Fleay, 
Frederick Gard, 1886, Chronicle History of the Life 
and Work of William Shakespeare, pp. 242, 243. 



The play is, however, one of the less celebrated and 
less attractive among Shakespeare's works. The theme 
itself is not the most enticing, and its treatment must be 
pronounced to be in many respects unsatisfactory. The 
inequality of the execution will be acknowledged by 
every careful reader. Some parts are wrought out with 
great skill and completeness; others are hastily and rudely 
sketched, while certain necessary links seem to be omitted 
altogether. The versification is often a mystery, and the 
prose frequently appears to be written with exceeding 
carelessness. But the main characteristic of the play is 
the dark coloring in which it portrays social life. Its 
speech is steeped in bitterness; it contains the most vin- 
dictive utterances against mankind to be found in Shake- 
speare. A noble, generous character is victimized to the 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 233 

last degree, and driven forward to suicide. Unselfish- 
ness apparently becomes tragic in a selfish world. Still, 
the other side is not neglected; this very unselfishness is 
seen to be at bottom selfish. Timon is guilty, and has 
to take the consequence of his deed. He turns misan- 
thrope, full of vehement sarcasm and red-hot impreca- 
tion. The latter part of the play, in particular, is a bath 
of gall. — Snider, Denton Jaques, 1887, The Shake- 
spearian Drama, The Tragedies, p. 13. 



''Timon of Athens" has come down to us in a pitiable 
condition. The text is in a terrible state, and there are, 
not only between one scene and another, but between 
one page and another, such radical differences in the 
style and general spirit of the play as to preclude the 
possibility of its having been the work of one man. 
The threads of the story are often entirely disconnected, 
and circumstances occur (or are referred to) for which 
we were in no way prepared. The best part of the 
versification is distinctly Shakespearian, and contains 
all that wealth of thought which was characteristic of 
this period of his life; but the other parts are careless, 
discordant, and desperately monotonous. The prose dia- 
logue especially jars, thrust as it is, with its long-winded 
straining after effect, into scenes which are otherwise 
compact and vigorous. All Shakespeare students of the 
present day concur in the opinion that "Timon of Athens," 
like "Pericles," is but a great fragment from the master- 
hand. — Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare^ 
A Critical Study, vol. 11. p. 254. 



234 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

PERICLES 

1608 

THE LATE, | And much admired Play, | Called | Peri- 
cles, Prince | of Tyre, | With the true Relation of the 
whole Historie, aduentures, and fortunes of the said 
Prince: | As also, | The no lesse strange, and worthy acci- 
dents, 1 in the Birth and Life, of his Daughter | MARI- 
ANA. I As it hath been diuers and sundry times acted 
by I his Maiesties Seruants, at the Globe on | the Banck- 
side. I By William Shakespeare. \ Imprinted at London 
for Henry Gosson \ and are | to be sold at the Signe of 
the Sunne in | Paternoster Row. 1609. — Title Page 
OF THE First Edition, 1609. 



And if it prove so happy as to please, 
Weele say 'tis fortunate like Pericles. 
— Taylor, Robert, 1614, The Hogge hath lost 
his Pearle, Prologue. 



With Sophocles we may 
Compare great Shakespeare: Aristophanes 
Never like him his Fancy could display, 
Witness the Prince of Tyre, his Pericles. 

— Sheppard, Samuel, 1646, The Times dis- 
played in Six Sestyads. 



But Shakespeare, the plebeian driller, was 
Founder'd in his Pericles, and must not pass. 

— Tatham, J., 1652, In ^^ Jovial Crew^' by 
Richard Brome. 



PERICLES. 235 

We dare not charge the whole unequal play 

Of Pericles on him; yet let us say, 

As gold tho' mix'd with baser metal shines, 

So do his bright inimitable Hnes 

Throughout those rude wild scenes distinguish'd stand 

And shew he touch'd them with no sparing hand. 

— LiLLO, George, 1738, Marina^ Prologue. 



This tragedy, I think, exhibits no equitable claim to be 
regarded as a work of Shakspeare's, any more than that 
with which it is most worthily associated, in the same 
volume, "Titus Andronicus." If one of these composi- 
tions is ludicrously shocking, the other is shockingly 
ludicrous; and the poet's reputation, I believe, would have 
been better consulted, by dismissing them both to con- 
tempt and oblivion. — Seymour, E. H., 1805, Remarks on 
Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 436. 



Many will be of opinion that it contains more that he 
might have written than either "Love's labour's lost," 
or "All's well that ends well." — Douce, Francis, 1807, 
Illustrations of Shakspeare, vol. 11, p. 144. 



However wild and extravagant the fable of "Pericles" 
may appear, if we consider its numerous choruses, its 
pageantry, and dumb shows, its continual succession of 
incidents, and the great length of time which they occupy, 
yet is it, we may venture to assert, the most spirited and 
pleasing specimen of the nature and fabric of our earliest 
romantic drama which we possess, and the more valuable, 
as it is the only one with which Shakspeare has favoured 
us. . . . From the extensive survey which has now been 
taken of the merits and supposed era of this early drama. 



236 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the reader, it is probable, will gather sufficient data for 
concluding that by far the greater part of it issued from 
the pen of Shakspeare, that it was his first dramatic pro- 
duction, that it appeared towards the close of the year 
1590, and that it deserves to be removed from the Ap- 
pendix to the editions of Shakspeare, where it has hitherto 
appeared, and incorporated in the body of his works. — 
Drake, Nathan, 181 7, Shakspeare and His Times, vol. 
II, pp. 266-286. 

Though it contains one fine scene and many scattered 
beauties, the play is a bad one; it is destitute of reality 
and art, and is entirely alien to Shakspeare's system: it 
is interesting only as marking the point from which he 
started; and it seems to belong to his works as a last 
monument of that which he overthrew — as a remnant of 
that anti-dramatic scaffolding for which he was about to 
substitute the presence and movement of vitality. — 
GuizoT, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, Shak- 
speare and His Times, p. 6y. 



It is generally believed that he had much to do with 
the tragedy of "Pericles," which is now printed among 
his works, and which external testimony, though we 
should not rely too much on that as to Shakspeare, has 
assigned to him; but the play is full of evident marks of 
an inferior hand. — Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduc- 
tion to the Literature of Europe, pt. ii, ch. vi, par. 35. 



If it be the work of Shakspere, the foundations of it 
were laid when his art was imperfect, and he laboured 
somewhat in subjection to the influence of those ruder 



TWO NOBLE kinsmen: 23/ 

models for which he eventually substituted his own 
splendid examples of dramatic excellence. — Knight, 
Charles, 1849, Studies of Shakspere, bk. ii, ch. ii, p. 53, 



The work as it has come down to us is not in reality 
a drama at all, but an incompletely dramatised epic 
poem. . . . Thus the germs of all his latest works lie 
in this unjustly neglected and despised play, which has 
suffered under a double disadvantage: it is not entirely 
Shakespeare's work, and in such portions of it as are his 
own there exist, in the dark shadow cast by her hideous 
surroundings about Marina, traces of that gloomy mood 
from which he was but just emerging. But for all that, 
whether we look upon it as a contribution to Shake- 
speare's biography or as a poem, this beautiful and re- 
markable fragment, "Pericles," is a work of the greatest 
interest. — Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare^ 
A Critical Study, vol. n, pp. 279, 295. 



Great part of it must be Shakespeare's; there is per- 
haps no part that might not be; and the general charac- 
teristics of story-management and versification are a very 
odd mixture of his earliest and his latest manner — a 
''Love's Labour's Lost" blended with a "Winter's Tale." 
— Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short History of Eng- 
lish Literature, p. 327. 



TWO NOBLE KINSMEN 

1609 

The I TWO | noble | kinsmen: [ Presented at the 
Blackfriars | by the Kings Maiesties servants, 1 with great 



238 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

applause: | Written by the memorable Worthies of their 

I ( Mf John Fletcher, and ^ ^ i t» • * j 4. 

time; \ ,^r iirn- cu 1 Gent. Printed at 

'I (Mf Wilham Shakspeare. ' 

London by Tho. Cotes, for lohn Water son: \ an^ are to be 

sold at the signe of the Crowne \ in Pauls Church-yard. 

1634. — Title Page of First Edition, 1634. 

This play is said to have been written by Shakespear 
and Fletcher, a circumstance which the editor of Beau- 
mont and Fletcher seems to be greatly concerned about, 
probably out of tenderness for the reputation of Fletcher, 
but he need not have made himself in the smallest degree 
uneasy, for the play itself sufficiently proves that Shake- 
spear had no hand in it. Indeed there is not much repu- 
tation to be claimed by any body, for the story is Chaucer's 
''Knights Tale," which we have seen already treated by 
Edwards to the great delight of queen Elizabeth. There 
is something, however, gaudy and fine in it; and, like 
most of the works of Beaumont and Fletcher, it resembles 
a parterre appearing so full of colours that form and 
symmetry are not once thought of. — Dibdin, Charles, 
1795, A Complete History of the Stage, vol. in, p. 209. 



I have no doubt whatever that the first act and the first 
scene of the second act of "The Two Noble Kinsmen" 
are Shakspere's. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1833, 
T able-Talk, Feb. 17. 

Be the authorship whose it may, "The Two Noble 
Kinsmen" is undoubtedly one of the finest dramas in the 
volumes before us.-^ It contains passages which, in dra- 
matic vigour and passion, yield hardly to anything — 

* Dyce's " Beaumont and Fletcher." 



TfVO NOBLE KINSMEN. 239 

perhaps to nothing — in the whole collection; while for 
gorgeousness of imagery, for delicacy of poetic feeling, 
and for grace, animation, and strength of language, we 
doubt whether there exists, under the names of our 
authors, any drama that comes near to it. — Spalding, 
William, 1847, Dyce's Beaumont and Fletcher ^ Edinburgh 
Review, vol. 86, p. 58. 

For our own part, we wish that the question were as 
simple as in the case of ''Henry VIII.," but we do not 
find it so. We were at first ready to agree with Spalding 
and Hickson — with the latter rather than the former on 
the points as to which they differ — but on more careful 
study of the play, we find ourself wavering, as Spalding 
did, and coming to regard the problem as "really insolu- 
ble." Shakespeare perhaps had a share in the play; but, 
if so, it is impossible to decide just what it was, or how it 
came about. — Rolfe, William J., 1883, ed. The Two 
Noble Kinsmen, Introduction, p. 21. 



The play is of no particular value; it is far inferior to 
Fletcher's best work, and not to be compared with any 
of Shakespeare's completed dramas. Nevertheless, many 
eminent critics of this century have found distinct traces 
in this play of the styles of both greater and lesser poet. 
— Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A 
Critical Study, vol. 11, p. 310. 



240 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

THE TEMPEST 

1610 

If there bee never a Servant-monster i' the Fayre, who 
can helpe it? he sayes; nor a nest of Antiques? Hee is 
loth to make Nature afraid in his Playes, like those that 
beget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries, to mixe 
his head with other mens heeles. — Jonson, Ben, 1614, 
Bartholomew Fayre, Induction. 



November 7. — At noon resolved with Sir W. Pen to 
go see ''The Tempest," an old play of Shakespeare's, 
acted, I hear, the first day. . . . The house mighty full; 
the King and Court there: and the most innocent play 
that ever I saw; and a curious piece of musique in an 
echo of half sentences, the echo repeating the former 
half, while the man goes on to the latter; which is mighty 
pretty. The play [has] no great wit, but yet good, above 
ordinary plays. — Pepys, Samuel, 1667, Diary and Cor- 
respondence. 

No man ever drew so many characters, or generally 
distinguished 'em better from one another, excepting only 
Johnson: I will instance but in one, to show the copious- 
ness of his invention; 'tis that of *'Calyban," or the 
monster in ''The Tempest." He seems there to have 
created a person which was not in Nature, a boldness 
which at first sight would appear intolerable; for he 
makes him a species of himself, begotten by an "Incu- 
bus" on a Witch; but this, as I have elsewhere prov'd, 
is not wholly beyond the bounds of credibility, at least 
the vulgar stile believe it. We have the separated notions 



THE TEMPEST. 24 1 

of a spirit and of a witch; (and spirits, according to 
*' Plato," are vested with a subtil body; according to 
some of his followers, have different sexes) therefore as 
from the distinct apprehensions of a horse, and of a man, 
Imagination has form'd a ''Centaur," so from those of 
an "Incubus" and a ''Sorceress," Shakespear has pro- 
duc'd his Monster. Whether or no his generation can 
be defended, I leave to Philosophy; but of this I am cer- 
tain, the Poet has most judiciously furnish'd him with a 
person, a language, and a character which will suit him 
both by Father's and Mother's side: he has all the dis- 
contents and malice of a Witch, and of a Devil; besides a 
convenient proportion of the deadly sins; Gluttony, Sloth, 
and Lust, are manifest; the dejectedness of a slave is 
likewise given him, and the ignorance of one bred up in 
a Desart Island. His person is monstrous, as he is the 
product of unnatural lust; and his language is as hob- 
goblin as his person; in all things he is distinguished 
from other mortals. — Dryden, John, 1679, Troilus and 
Cressida, Preface. 

This drama is one of the noblest efforts of that sublime 
and amazing imagination, peculiar to Shakspeare, which 
soars above the bounds of nature, without forsaking 
sense; or, more properly, carries nature along with him 
beyond her established limits. — Warburton, William, 
1747, Shakspear Plays, with Comment and Notes. 



An Attempte To Rescue that Aunciente, English Poet, 
And Play-Wrighte, Maister Williaume Shakespere, from 
the Maney Errours, faulsely charged on him, by Cer- 
taine New-fangled Wittes; And To let him Speak for 
Himself, as right well he wotteth, when Freede from the 



242 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

many Careless Mistakeings, of The Heedless first Im- 
printers, of his Workes. By a Gentleman formerly of 
Greys-Inn. — Holt, John, 1749, Title Page. 



But whatever might be Shakspeare's intention in form- 
ing or adopting the plot, he has made it instrumental to 
the production of many characters, diversified with bound- 
less invention, and preserved with profound skill in na- 
ture, extensive knowledge of opinions, and accurate ob- 
servation of life. In a single drama are here exhibited 
princes, courtiers, and sailors, all speaking in their real 
characters. There is the agency of airy spirits, and of 
an earthly goblin; the operations of magic, the tumults of 
a storm, the adventures of a desert island, the native 
effusion of untaught affection, the punishment of guilt, 
and the final happiness of the pair for whom our pas- 
sions and reason are equally interested. — Johnson, Sam- 
uel, 1768, General Observations on Shakspeare's Plays. 



The character of Caliban, in the ''Tempest," is singu- 
larly original: but the almost animal figure, which his 
dress must give him, turns the attention from all that is 
philosophical in the conception of this part. — Stael, 
Madame de, 1800, The Influence of Literature upon 
Society, vol. T, p. 271. 

The ''Tempest" is one of the most original and per- 
fect of Shakespear's productions, and he has shown in it 
all the variety of his powers. It is full of grace and grand- 
eur. The human and imaginary characters, the dramatic 
and the grotesque, are blended together with the greatest 
art, and without any appearance of it. Though he has 
here given "to airy nothing a local habitation and a 



THE TEMPEST. 243 

name," yet that part which is only the fantastic creation 
of his mind has the same palpable texture, and coheres 
''semblably" with the rest. As the preternatural part 
has the air of reality, and almost haunts the imagination 
with a sense of truth, the real characters and events par- 
take of the wildness of a dream. — Hazlitt, William, 
1817-69, Characters of Shakespear^s Plays, p. 82. 



None of his other plays are more amusing or more 
animated than this, and in none is a lively, and even 
waggish, gayety more naturally conjoined with serious in- 
terests, melancholy feelings, and touching affections. It 
is a fairy tale in all the force of the term, and in all the 
vivacity of the impressions which such a tale can impart. 
— GuizoT, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 1821-52, 
Shakspeare and His Times, p. 356. 



The character of Miranda resolves itself into the very 
elements of womanhood. She is beautiful, modest, and 
tender, and she is these only; they comprise her whole 
being, external and internal. She is so perfectly unso- 
phisticated, so delicately refined, that she is all but ethe- 
real. Let us imagine any other woman placed beside 
Miranda — even one of Shakspeare's own loveliest and 
sweetest creations — there is not one of them that could 
sustain the comparison for a moment; not one that would 
not appear somewhat coarse or artificial when brought 
into immediate contact with this pure child of nature, 
this ''Eve of an enchanted Paradise." What, then, has 
Shakspeare done? — **0 wondrous skill and sweet wit of 
the man!" — he has removed Miranda far from all com- 
parison with her own sex; he has placed her between the 
demi-demon of earth and the delicate spirit of air. The 



244 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

next step is into the ideal and supernatural; and the only 
being who approaches Miranda, with whom she can be 
contrasted, is Ariel. Beside the subtle essence of this 
ethereal sprite, this creature of elemental light and air, 
that "ran upon the winds, rode the curl'd clouds, and in 
the colours of the rainbow lived," Miranda herself ap- 
pears a palpable reality, a woman, "breathing thoughtful 
breath,'' a woman, walking the earth in her mortal love- 
liness, with a heart as frail-strung, as passion-touched, as 
ever fluttered in a female bosom. — Jameson, Anna 
Brownell, 1832, Characteristics 0} Women. 



Caliban has not yet been thoroughly fathomed. For 
all Shakspeare's great creations are, like works of nature, 
subject of inexhaustible study. It was this character of 
whom Charles I. and some of his ministers expressed 
such fervent admiration; and, among other circumstances, 
most justly they admired the new language almost with 
which he is endowed for the purpose of expressing his 
fiendish and yet carnal thoughts of hatred to his master. 
Caliban is evidently not meant for scorn, but for abomi- 
nation mixed with fear and partial respect. He is pur- 
posely brought into contrast with the drunken Trinculo 
and Stephano, with an advantageous result. He is much 
more intellectual than either, — uses a more elevated 
language not disfigured by vulgarisms, and is not liable 
to the low passion for plunder, as they are. He is mortal, 
doubtless, as his "dam*' (for Shakspeare will not call her 
mother) Sycorax. But he inherits from her such qualities 
of power as a witch could be supposed to bequeath. He 
trembles indeed before Prospero; but that is, as we are 
to understand, through the moral superiority of Prospero 
in Christian wisdom; for, when he finds himself in the 



THE TEMPEST. 245 

presence of dissolute and unprincipled men, he rises at 
once into the dignity of intellectual power. — De Quincey, 
Thomas, 1838-63? Shakspeare, Works, ed. Masson, vol. 
IV, ^.85, note. 

''The Tempest" is one of those works for which no 
other production of the author's prolific fancy could have 
prepared his readers. It is wholly of a different cast of 
temper, and mood of disposition, from those so conspicu- 
ous in his gayer comedies; while even the ethical dignity 
and poetic splendour of "The Merchant of Venice" 
could not well lead the critic to anticipate the solemn 
grandeur, the unrivalled harmony and grace, the bold 
originality, and the grave beauty of "The Tempest." — 
Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1844-47, ^^- ^^^ Illus- 
trated Shakespeare. 

The thoughtful reader will find in the compact simpli- 
city of its structure, and in the chastened grandeur of its 
diction and the lofty severity of its tone of thought, tem- 
pered although the one is with Shakespeare's own en- 
chanting sweetness, and the other with that most human 
tenderness which is the peculiar trait of his mind, suf- 
ficient evidence that this play is the fruit of his genius 
in its full maturity. — White, Richard Grant, 1858, ed. 
The Works of William Shakespeare, vol. 11, p. 7. 



Shakespeare has combined all the resources of his 
wonderful imagination; and in it has with consummate 
skill displayed the vast variety of his powers. In this 
latter quality — that of his variety — the play may be 
pronounced the most original, as well as the most com- 
plete of his productions. It is at once instinct with 



246 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

grace and beauty, grandeur and sublimity, mirth, cheer- 
fulness, and broad humour, — Clarke, Charles Cow- 
den, 1863, Shakespeare Characters, p. 275. 



Only one man resisted this universal current [i.e. the 
belief in witchcraft promulgated by James.] That man 
was Shakespeare. Shakespeare did not as did Reginald 
Scot. He did not reject the traditions of the Bible nor 
the legends; he engrafted them. He did not question the 
existence of the invisible world; he rehabilitated it. He 
did not deny man's supernatural power; he consecrated 
it. James the Sixth said: Accursed be spirits! Shake- 
speare says: Glory be to spirits! — Hugo, Francois- 
Victor, 1865, CEuvres Completes de Shakespeare, vol. 11, 
Introduction, p. 87. 

If I read it rightly, it is an example of how a great 
poet should write allegory, — not embodying metaphysical 
abstractions, but giving us ideals abstracted from life 
itself, suggesting an undef-meaning everywhere, forcing 
it upon us nowhere, tantalizing the mind with hints that 
imply so much and tell so little, and yet keep the atten- 
tion all eye and ear with eager, if fruitless, expectation. 
Here the leading characters are not merely typical, but 
symbolical, — that is, they do not illustrate a class of 
persons, they belong to universal Nature. — Lowell, 
James Russell, 1868-90, Shakespeare Once More, Prose 
Works, Riverside ed., vol. iii, p. 59. 



''The Tempest" is not one of those plays whose inter- 
est consists in strong dramatic situations. The course of 
the action is revealed from the first. Prospero is too 
manifestly the controlling spirit to arouse much concern 



THE TEMPEST. 24/ 

for his fortunes. Ferdinand and Miranda are soon put 
out of their pain, and Ariel lies beyond the limits of hu- 
manity. The action is simple and uniform, and all oc- 
currences are seen converging slowly towards their des- 
tined point. No play, perhaps, more perfectly combines 
intellectual satisfaction with imaginative pleasure. Above 
and behind the fascination of the plot and the poetry we 
behold Power and Right evenly paired and working to- 
gether, and the justification of Providence producing that 
sentiment of repose and acquiescence which is the object 
and test of every true work of art. — Garnett, Richard, 
1887-90, Henry Irving Shakespeare, vol. vii, p. 188. 



Is there, then, nothing to be said in favour of Caliban ? 
Is there really and truly no print of goodness in him? 
Kindly Nature never wholly deserts her offspring, nor 
does Shakespeare. We may be very sure that he, who 
knew so well that there is always some soul of goodness 
in things evil, would not have abandoned even Caliban 
without infusing into his nature some charm which might 
be observingly distilled out. Why is it that Caliban's 
speech is always rhythmical? There is no character in 
the play whose words fall at times into sweeter cadences; 
if the ^olian melodies of the air are sweet, the deep bass 
of the earth is no less rhythmically resonant. We who 
see Caliban only in his prime and, a victim of heredity, 
full grown, are apt to forget the years of his childhood 
and of his innocency, when Prospero fondled him, stroked 
him, and made much of him, Miranda taught him to 
speak, and with the sympathetic instinct of young girl- 
hood interpreted his thoughts and endowed his purposes 
with words. — Furness, Horace Howard, 1892, New 
Variorum Shakespeare, The Tempest, vol. ix, p. iv. 



248 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

There is little in Homer that is not true to nature, but 
there is no phase of nature that is not in Shakespeare. 
Analyze the components of a Shakespearian play, and 
you will see that I make no overstatement. ''The Tem- 
pest," a romantic play, is as notable as any for poetic 
quality and varied conception. It takes elemental nature 
for its scenes and background, the unbarred sky, the sea 
in storm and calm, the enchanted flowery isle, so 

"full of noises, 
Sounds and sweet airs that give dehght and hurt not." 

The personages comprise many types, — king, noble, 
sage, low-born sailor, boisterous vagabond, youth and 
maiden in the heyday of their innocent love. To them 
are superadded beings of the earth and air, Caliban and 
Ariel, creations of the purest imagination. All these re- 
veal their natures by speech and action, with a realism 
impossible to the tamer method of a narrative poem. 
Consider the poetic thought and diction: what can excel 
Prospero's vision of the world's dissolution that shall 
leave "not a rack behind," or his stately abjuration of 
the magic art? Listen, here and there, to the songs of 
his tricksy spirit, his brave chick, Ariel: "Come unto 
these yellow sands," "Full fathom five thy father lies," 
"Where the bee sucks, there suck I." Then we have a 
play within a play, lightening and decorating it, the masque 
of Iris, Ceres, and Juno. I recapitulate these details to 
give a perfectly familiar illustration of the scope of the 
drama. True, this was Shakespeare, but the ideal 
should be studied in a masterpiece; and such a play as 
"The Tempest" shows the possibilities of invention and 
imagination in the most synthetic poetic form over which 
genius has extended its domain. — Stedman, Edmund 
Clarence, 1892, The Nature and Elements of Poetry, p. 106. 



THE TEMPEST. 249 

That rich, fantastic wonder-poem, ''The Tempest," on 
which Shakespeare concentrated for the last time all the 
powers of his mind. Everything here is ordered and 
concise, and so inspired with thought that we seem to be 
standing face to face with the poet's idea. In spite of 
all its boldness of imagination, the dramatic order and 
condensation are such that the whole complies with the 
severest rules of Aristotle, the action of the entire play 
occupying in reality only three hours. — Brandes, George, 
1898, William Shakespeare^ A Critical Study j vol. n, p. 
361. 

The splendour of sunset in the "Tempest" can escape 
no one, and the sternest opponent of guesswork must ad- 
mit the probable presence of a designed allegory in the 
figure of Prospero and the burying of the book, the break- 
ing of the staff, at the close. Even if this be thought 
too fanciful, nowhere has Shakespeare been more prodigal 
of every species of his enchantment. The exquisite but 
contrasted grace of Miranda and Ariel, the wonderful 
creation of Caliban, the varied human criticism in Gon- 
zalo and the bad brothers, the farce-comedy of Stephano 
and Trinculo, do not more show the illimitable fancy 
and creative power of the master in scene and character 
than the passages, not so much scattered as showered 
over the whole play, show his absolute supremacy in 
poetry. Both in the blank verse and the lyrics, in the 
dialogue and the set tirades, in long contexts and short 
phrases alike, he shows himself absolute, with nothing 
out of reach of his faculty of expression and suggestion, 
with every resource of verbal music and intellectual 
demonstration at his command. — Saintsbury, George, 
1898, A Short History of English Literature, p. 328. 



250 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

CYMBELINE 

1610-12 

This play has many just sentiments, some natural dia- 
logues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained 
at the expense of much incongruity. To remark the 
folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the con- 
fusion of the names, and manners of different times, and 
the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were 
to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults 
too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation. 
— Johnson, Samuel, 1768, General Observations on 
Shakspeare's Plays. 

"Cymbeline" is one of the most delightful of Shake- 
spear's historical plays. . . . We have almost as great 
an affection for Imogen as she had for Posthumus; and 
she deserves it better. Of all Shakespear's women she 
is perhaps the most tender and the most artless. Her 
incredulity in the opening scene with lachimo, as to her 
husband's infidelity, is much the same as Desdemona's 
backwardness to believe Othello's jealousy. Her answer 
to the most distressing part of the picture is only, ''My 
lord, I fear, has forgot Britain." Her readiness to pardon 
lachimo's false imputations and his designs against her- 
self, is a good lesson to prudes; and may show that where 
there is a real attachment to virtue, it has no need to 
bolster itself up with an outrageous or affected antipathy 
to vice. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters of 
Shakespeare's Plays, pp. 1-3. 



On the whole, Imogen is a lovely compound of good- 
ness, truth, and affection, with just so much of passion 



CYMBELINE. 2$ I 

and intellect and poetry, as serve to lend to the picture 
that power and glowing richness of effect which it would 
otherwise have wanted; and of her it might be said, if 
we could condescend to quote from any other poet with 
Shakspeare open before us, that "her person was a para- 
dise and her soul the cherub to guard it." — Jameson, 
Anna Brownell, 1832, Characteristics of Women. 



This play is perhaps the fittest in Shakspeare's whole 
theatre to illustrate the principle, that great dramatic 
genius can occasionally venture on bold improbabilities, 
and yet not only shrive the offence, but leave us enchanted 
with the offender. I think I exaggerate not, in saying 
that Shakspeare has nowhere breathed more pleasurable 
feelings over the mind, as an antidote to tragic pain, than 
in "Cymbeline." — Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shak- 
speare^ s Plays, Moxon ed., Life. 



The play of plays, which is "Cymbeline," remains 
alone to receive the last salute of all my love. I think, 
as far as I can tell, I may say I have always loved this 
one beyond all other children of Shakespeare. — Swin- 
burne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study 0} Shake- 
speare, p. 225. 

Yet the play is not merely a series of beautiful pictures, 
or interesting episodes, such as we are accustomed to find 
in the productions of dramatists of less renown. Here, 
as elsewhere in Shakespeare, everything is subservient to 
the development of character. From this point of view 
every scene contributes its share to the denouement, nor 
is there any falling off observable in the power of the 



252 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

artist; the master-hand is as discernible in these latest 
creations as in those of any earlier period. And he has 
put forth all his strength on the central figure of the 
drama, the matchless Imogen, to speak of whom is to 
sing one long paean of praise, and whose very name is 
as full of music as her voice. In her is to be found every- 
thing that makes woman lovable, and there is no situation 
in which she is placed which does not reveal some fresh 
beauty in her character. — Evans, H. A., 1887-90, Henry 
Irving Shakespeare, vol. vii, p. 86. 



This play is peculiarly a play of regeneration, and 
shows in manifold characters the process by which the 
soul is to free itself of its weak, inadequate, sinful phases. 
We find here, even the unregenerate — Cloten and his 
mother, who persist in evil and perish, though they, too, 
have the same chance as the rest. They can not be 
mediated, they make the Inferno in this comedy, which, 
in certain respects, is Dantean. But the chief realm here 
is the Purgatory, which shows the erring man in the 
process of regeneration. Many forms he takes, from the 
demon lachimo, through Posthumus, the King, Belarius; 
up to even the good ones, Imogen and Pisanio; all are 
going through the purgatorial discipline. Shakespeare's 
Purgatory, however, includes the guiltless and the guilty, 
in this being different from Dante's; the sinless have to 
suffer for and through the sinful, thereby attaining to 
completeness and passing from mere innocence to positive 
goodness. But we have also a touch of the primitive 
Paradise in the two youths and their mountain home. 
Theirs is the state of first innocence, without knowledge, 
but they thirst for experience, and quit their paradisaical 
abode, having the old Adam in them still. Thus the 



WINTER'S TALE. 253 

play completes the cycle of the human, if not of the 
divine, comedy. — Snider, Denton Jaques, 1887, The 
Shakespearian Drama, The Comedies, p. 542. 



The skill of the dramatist in opening his story, and 
preparing by clear touches for effects to be produced as 
it draws near the close, is a marked feature in all plays 
of Shakespeare, and nowhere more marked than in 
''Cymbeline." — Morley, Henry, and Griffin, W. 
Hall, 1895, English Writers, vol. xi, p. 139. 



In depth and variety of colouring, in richness of matter, 
profundity of thought, and heedlessness of conventional 
canons, "Cymbeline" has few rivals among Shakespeare's 
plays. Fascinating as it is, however, this tragi-comedy 
has never been very popular on the stage. The great 
public, indeed, has neither studied nor understood it. — 
Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Criti- 
cal Study, vol. II, p. 323. 



WINTER'S TALE 

1611 

He said Shakespeare wanted art and sometimes sense, 
for in one of his plays he brought in a number of men 
saying they had suffered shipwreck in Bohemia, where is 
no sea near by 100 miles. — Drummond, William, 1619, 
Notes on Ben Jonson's Conversations. 



The novel has nothing in it half so low and improbable 
as this contrivance of the statue; and indeed wherever 



254 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Shakespear has altered or invented, his "Winter's Tale" 
is greatly inferior to the old paltry story that furnished 
him with the subject of it. — Lennox, Charlotte, 1753- 
4, Shakespear Illustrated. 



There is a scene in this play which is an exception to 
the rest, in being far more grand in exhibition than the 
reader will possibly behold in idea. This is the scene of 
the Statue, when Mrs. Siddons stands for Hermione. — 
Inchbald, Elizabeth, 1806-9, British Theatre, vol. xn. 



The character of Hermione exhibits what is never 
found in the other sex, but rarely in our own — yet 
sometimes — dignity without pride, love without passion, 
and tenderness without weakness. To conceive a char- 
acter in which there enters so much of the negative, re- 
quired perhaps no rare and astonishing effort of genius, 
such as created a Juliet, a Miranda, or a Lady Macbeth; 
but to delineate such a character in the poetical form, to 
develop it through the medium of action and dialogue, 
without the aid of description; to preserve its tranquil, 
mild, and serious beauty, its unimpassioned dignity, and 
at the same time keep the strongest hold upon our sym- 
pathy and our imagination; and out of this exterior calm, 
produce the most profound pathos, the most vivid im- 
pression of life and internal power: — it is this which 
renders the character of Hermione one of Shakspeare's 
masterpieces. — Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1832, Char- 
acteristics of Women. 

In this wild drama the comedy is excellent, the pastoral 
is exquisite; but of the scenes which carry on the plot, 
some appear to me to be harsh in the thought and infe- 



WINTER'S TALE. 2$$ 

licitous in diction: — Shakespeare throughout, but not 
always Shakespeare in a happy vein. — Coleridge, 
Hartley, 1849-51, Essays and Marginalia, vol. 11, p. 148. 



Accordingly the most remarkable stroke of genius in this 
play of Shakespeare is that he turned only into a comedy a 
subject which could furnish the most sombre of tragedies. 
He understood admirably that however violent and tragic 
were the acts, such a character would be necessarily comic' 
Indeed, so comic, that it is exactly the one which our Moli- 
ere has drawn in Sganarelle, ou le Cocu imaginaire. Le- 
ontes is formidable otherwise than the poor bourgeois of 
Moliere, for his folly is supplied with far different means of 
action; but they are brothers, if not in rank yet in nature, 
and their souls plunge into the same grotesque element. 
— MoNTEGUT, £mile, 1 86 7, (Etivres Completes de Shake- 
speare, vol. iii. 

The last complete play of Shakspere's as it is, the 
golden glow of the sunset of his genius is over it, the 
sweet country air all through it; and of few, if any of 
his plays, is there a pleasanter picture in the memory 
than of "Winter's Tale." As long as men can think, 
shall Perdita brighten and sweeten, Hermione ennoble, 
men's minds and lives. How happily, too, it brings 
Shakspere before us, mixing with his Stratford neigh- 
bours at their sheep-shearing and country sports, enjoy- 
ing the vagabond pedlar's gammon and talk, delighting 
in the sweet Warwickshire maidens, and buying them 
''fairings," telling goblin stories to the boys, ''There was 
a man dwelt by a churchyard," — opening his heart 
afresh to all the innocent mirth, and the beauty of nature 
around him. — Furnivall, Frederick James, 1877, ed. 
The Leopold Shakspere, Introduction to the Play. 



256 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The wild wind of the ''Winter's Tale" at its opening 
would seem to blow us back into a winterier world in- 
deed. And to the very end I must confess that I have 
in me so much of the spirit of Rachel weeping in Ramah 
as will not be comforted because Mamillius is not. It is 
well for those whose hearts are light enough, to take 
perfect comfort even in the substitution of his sister Per- 
dita for the boy who died of "thoughts high for one so 
tender." Even the beautiful suggestion that Shakespeare 
as he wrote had in mind his own dead little son still fresh 
and living at his heart can hardly add more than a touch 
of additional tenderness to our perfect and piteous de- 
light in him. And even in her daughter's embrace it 
seems hard if his mother should have utterly forgotten 
the little voice that had only time to tell her just eight 
words of that ghost story which neither she nor we were 
ever to hear ended. — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 
1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 222. 



Besides the ripe comedy, characteristic of Shakespeare 
at his latest, which indeed harmonizes admirably with 
the idyl of love to which it serves as background, there is 
also a harsh exhibition, in Leontes, of the meanest of the 
passions, an insane jealousy, petty and violent as the man 
who nurses it. For sheer realism, for absolute insight 
into the most cobwebbed corners of our nature, Shake- 
speare has rarely surpassed this brief study, which, in its 
total effect, does but throw out in brighter relief the noble 
qualities of the other actors beside him, the pleasant 
qualities of the play they make by their acting. — Symons, 
Arthur, 1887-90, Henry Irving Shakespeare, vol. vii, p. 
320. 



HENRY VIII, 257 

"The Winter's Tale," with its interval for sixteen 
years between two acts, may be said, too, to mark the 
final overthrow of Time — the hallowed "Unity of Time" 

— by its natural adversary, the Romantic Drama. The 
play recalls Sir Philip Sidney's criticism, in his ''Apologie 
for Poetrie," anent the crude romantic plays popular 
about 1580, when he outlined a plot somewhat analogous 
to that of ''The Winter's Tale" as a typical instance of 
the abuse of dramatic decorum by lawless playwrights, 
who, contrary to academic rule, neglected both ''time 
and place." "The Winter's Tale," perhaps the very last 
of Shakespeare's comedies, appropriately emphasises, as 
it were, the essential elements of the triumph of the New 
over the Old. Sidney could not foresee, in 1580, the glo- 
rious future in store for the despised Cinderella of the 
playhouses, 

"Now grown in grace 
Equal with wondering." 

— GoLLANCz, Israel, 1894, ed. Temple Shakes p ear e^ 
Preface, p. x. 



HENRY VIII. 

1613 

Now let matters of state sleep, I will entertain you at 
the present with what happened at the Bankside. The 
king's players had a new play, called "All is True," 
representing some principal pieces of the reign of Henry 
VIII., which was set forth with many extraordinary cir- 
cumstances of pomp and majesty, even to the matting of 
the stage; the knights of the Order, with their Georges 
and Garter, the guards with their embroidered coats and 



258 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the like; sufficient, in Truth, within a while to make 
greatness very familiar if not ridiculous. Now King 
Henry making a masque at the Cardinal Wolsey's House, 
and certain canons being shot off at his entrance, some 
of the paper, or other stuff wherewith one of them was 
stopped, did light on the thatch, where being thought at 
first but an idle smoak, and their eyes more attentive to 
the show, it kindled inwardly and ran round like a train, 
consuming within less than an hour the whole House to 
the very grounds. — Wotton, Sir Henry, 1613, Epistles. 



London this last of June 1613. 
No longer since then yesterday, while Bourbege his 
companie were acting at y^ Globe the play of Hen: 8, 
and there shooting of certayne chambers in way of tri- 
umph; the fire catch'd & fastened upon the thatch of y^ 
house and there burned so furiously as it consumed the 
whole house & all in lesse then two houres (the people 
having enough to doe to save themselves). — Lorkins, 
Thomas, 161 3, Letter to Sir Thomas Puckering. Harl. 
MS. 7,002, jo, 268. 

January i. — Went to the Duke's house, the first play 
I have been at these six months, according to my last 
vowe, and here saw the so much cried-up play of ''Henry 
the Eighth;" which, though I went with resolution to like 
it, is so simple a thing made up of a great many patches, 
that, besides the shows and processions in it, there is 
nothing in the world good or well done. — Pepys, Samuel, 
1663-4, Diary and Correspondence. 



It was no easy task for an author to compose a dra- 
matic piece which should comprehend several transac- 



HENRY VIII. 259 

tions of a monarch recently dead, who had rendered him- 
self so odious to his subjects. To bring upon the stage, 
before the reigning queen, his daughter, a character so 
doubtful, at least, as her royal father; to present a strong 
resemblance of many of his most striking features, with- 
out alarming his sovereign, or disgusting the spectators; 
was an undertaking worthy the genius of Shakspeare; 
and in which, notwithstanding the apparent difficulty, he 
has admirably succeeded. — Davies, Thomas, 1784, 
Dramatic Micellanies, vol. i, p. 338. 



The character of Henry VIII. is drawn with great 
truth and spirit. It is like a very disagreeable portrait, 
sketched by the hand of a master. His gross appearance, 
his blustering demeanour, his vulgarity, his arrogance, his 
sensuality, his cruelty, his hypocrisy, his want of common 
decency and common humanity, are marked in strong 
lines. His traditional peculiarities of expression complete 
the reality of the picture. The authoritative expletive, 
''Ha!" with which he intimates his indignation or sur- 
prise, has an effect like the first startling sound that 
breaks from a thunder-cloud. He is of all the monarchs 
in our history the most disgusting: for he unites in him- 
self all the vices of barbarism and refinement, without 
their virtues. — Hazlitt, William, 1817-69, Characters 
of Shakespear's Plays, p. 170. 



"Henry VIII." has for us a literary interest, on account 
of its style, which the poet has certainly been careful to 
bring into conformity with the language of the court, as 
spoken in his own time, or a few years previously. In 
no other of his works is the style so elliptical; the habits 
of conversation seem to introduce into the construction of 



26o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

its sentences that economy and abbreviation which, in 
English pronunciation, deprive words of nearly half their 
syllables. Moreover, we find in it scarcely any play upon 
words, and, excepting only in a few passages, very little 
poetry. — Guizot, Francois Pierre Guillaume, 182 i- 
52, Shakspeare and His Times, p. 340. 



Poetical art perhaps never flattered a monster with 
such palpable likeness, and yet with such impalpable and 
cunning mitigation. He suborns his guilty love itself to 
seduce our sympathy by the beauty of its object. — 
Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shakspeare's Plays, Moxon 
ed., Life. 

Queen Katharine. In spite of the great virtues 
which I have to acknowledge in her, I have an insur- 
mountable dislike to this princess. As a married woman 
she was a pattern of social fidelity. As a queen she was 
most dignified and majestic. As a Christian she was 
virtue personified. But she inspired Dr. Samuel Johnson 
with a voice to sing her highest praise, and of all the 
women described by Shakespeare she is his special fa- 
vourite. He mentions her with tender pathos . . . and 
this is insufferable. Shakespeare did his best to idealise 
the good woman but this is in vain, when we perceive 
that this beer-barrel Dr. Johnson is overcome by tender 
delight at her sight and runs over in her praise. Were 
she my wife I could make such praise a ground of sepa- 
ration. — Heine, Heinrich, 1838-95, Notes on Shake- 
speare Heroines, tr. Benecke, p. 100. 



The opening . . . seemed to have the full stamp ot 
Shakspere in his latest manner; the same close-packed 



HENRY VIII. 261 

expression; the same life and reality and freshness; the 
same rapid and abrupt turnings of thought, so quick that 
language can hardly follow fast enough; the same impa- 
tient activity of intellect and fancy, which, having once 
disclosed an idea, cannot wait to work it orderly out; 
the same daring confidence in the resources of language 
which plunges headlong into a sentence without knowing 
how it is to come forth; the same careless metre which 
disdains to produce its harmonious effects by the ordinary 
devices, yet is evidently subject to a master of harmony; 
the same entire freedom from book-language and com- 
monplace. — Spedding, James, 1850, Who Wrote Shak- 
spere's Henry VIII. ? Gentleman's Magazine, August. 



In "Henry VIII." I think I see plainly the cropping 
out of the original rock on which his own finer stratum 
was laid. The first play was written by a superior, 
thoughtful man, with a vicious ear. I can mark his lines, 
and know well their cadence. See Wolsey's soliloquy, 
and the following scene with Cromwell, where instead of 
the metre of Shakspeare, whose secret is that the thought 
constructs the tune, so that reading for the sense will 
best bring out the rhythm, — here the lines are con- 
structed on a given tune, and the verse has even a trace 
of pulpit eloquence. But the play contains through all 
its length unmistakable traits of Shakspeare's hand, and 
some passages, as the account of the coronation, are like 
autographs. What is odd, the compliment to Queen Eliza- 
beth is in the bad rhythm. — Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 
1850-76, Shakspeare; or, the Poet, Representative Men. 



We admit, then, that this play offers us in some not 
unimportant passages the single instance of a style not 



262 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

elsewhere precisely or altogether traceable in Shakespeare; 
that no exact parallel to it can be found among his other 
plays; and that if not the partial work it may certainly be 
taken as the general model of Fletcher in his tragic poetry. 
On the other hand, we contend that its exceptional quality 
might perhaps be explicable as a tentative essay in a new 
line by one who tried so many styles before settling into 
his latest; and that, without far stronger, clearer, and 
completer proof than has yet been or can ever be ad- 
vanced, the question is not solved but merely evaded by 
the assumption of a double authorship. — Swinburne, 
Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of Shakespeare, p. 
93- 

I have no doubt that much of "Henry VIII." also is 
not Shakespeare. It is largely written by Fletcher, with 
passages unmistakably by Shakespeare, notably the two 
first scenes in the first Act, which are sane and compact 
in thought, expression and simile. — Tennyson, Alfred, 
Lord, 1883, Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir by his 
Son, vol. II, p. 291. 

If Katharine is a little disappointing, Anne is an un- 
mitigated failure. . . . Turning to the character of 
Henry VIII. we find a showy figure, who plays his part 
of king not without effect. Looking deeper, we discover 
that there is nothing deeper to discover. The Henry of 
history is a puzzling character, but the Henry of a play 
should be adequately conceived and intelligibly presented. 
Whatever disguise he may choose to assume towards the 
men and women who walk beside him on the boards, to 
us he must be without disguise. As it is, we know no 
more than after reading Holinshed whether the Henry of 



REJECTED PLAYS. 263 

the play believed or did not believe — or what partial 
belief he had — in those ''scruples," for instance, to 
which he refers, not without a certain unction. He is 
illogical, insubstantial, the merely superficial presentment 
of a deeply interesting historical figure, who would, we 
may be sure, have had intense interest for Shakespeare, 
and to whom Shakespeare would have given his keenest 
thought, his finest workmanship. — Symons, Arthur, 
1887-90, Henry Irving Shakespeare, vol. viii, pp. 162, 
163. 



REJECTED PLAYS. 



Arden of Feversham. 

The speeches in "Arden of Feversham" have spirit 
and feeling; but there is none of that wit, that fertility of 
analogical imagery, which the worst plays of Shakspeare 
display. The language is also more plain and perspicu- 
ous than we ever find in him, especially on a subject so 
full of passion. — Hallam, Henry, 1842, Introduction to 
the Literature of Europe, pt. ii, ch. v\, par. 2,2>, note. 



The play, as a whole, is but a slovenly piece of work, 
and the characters carrying on its action are throughout 
either repulsive or uninteresting. There seems an inten- 
tion to suggest in Arden's avarice a kind of poetic justi- 
fication of his doom; but the hint is too slight to be of 
much effect. The character of the wife, hateful in itself, 
is invested with no adventitious charm or allurement; 
vice is painted as nakedly and blackly as it is by the 



264 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

chronicler. The personages of the hired ruffians are 
rather in Ben Jonson's style; but there is little humour to 
relieve the loathsomeness of the figures. On the other 
hand, "Arden of Feversham" contains one or two pas- 
sages which strongly resemble Shakspere in manner. — 
Ward, Adolphus William, 1875-99, A History of Eng- 
lish Dramatic Literature, vol. 11, p. 218. 



Either this play is the young Shakespeare's first tragic 
master-piece, or there was a writer unknown to us then 
alive and at work for the stage who excelled him as a 
tragic dramatist not less — to say the very least — than 
he was excelled by Marlowe as a narrative and tragic 
poet. ... I cannot but finally take heart to say, even 
in the absence of all external or traditional testimony, that 
it seems to me not pardonable merely nor permissible, 
but simply logical and reasonable, to set down this poem, 
a young man's work on the face of it, as the possible 
work of no man's youthful hand but Shakespeare's. — 
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, pp. 136, 141. 



Has no similarities of versification, and does not, in 
its dealing with the murder of a husband by his wife 
and her baseborn paramour, suggest Shakespeare's choice 
of subject, but is closer in some ways than any other 
play to his handling in character and psychological analy- 
sis. — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short History of 
English Literature, p. 329. 



Highly as I esteem ''Arden of Feversham," I cannot 
believe that Shakespeare wrote a single line of it. It was 
not like him to choose such a subject, and still less to 



REJECTED PLAYS. 265 

treat it in such a fashion. The play is a domestic tra- 
gedy, in which a wife, after repeated attempts, murders 
her kind and forbearing husband, in order freely to in- 
dulge her passion for a worthless paramour. It is a 
dramatisation of an actual case, the facts of which are 
closely followed, but at the same time animated with 
great psychological insight. That Shakespeare had a 
distaste for such subjects is proved by his consistent 
avoidance of them, except in this problematical instance; 
whereas if he had once succeeded so well with such a 
theme, he would surely have repeated the experiment. 
The chief point is, however, that only in a few places, 
in the soliloquies, do we find the peculiar note of Shake- 
speare's style — that wealth of imagination, that luxuri- 
ant lyrism, which plays like sunlight over his speeches. 
In ''Arden of Feversham" the style is a uniform drab. — 
Brandes, George, 1898, William Shakespeare, A Criti- 
cal Study, vol. I, p. 204. 



Sir John Oldcastle. 

"Sir John Oldcastle" is certainly not worthy to be 
ranked among the works of Shakespear, and it is with 
great propriety that it has been generally rejected. It 
has, however, evident marks in places of strong and fa- 
miliar genius, which might have arisen from his having im- 
proved it; but even then they appear to be the shadow of his 
writing rather than the writing itself. — Dibdin, Charles, 
1795, A Complete History of the Stage, vol. in, p. TJ. 



"Sir John Oldcastle" is the compound piecework of 
four minor playwrights, one of them afterwards and 



266 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

otherwise eminent as a poet — Munday, Drayton, Wilson, 
and Hathaway: a thin sample of poetic patchery cobbled 
up and stitched together so as to serve its hour for a 
season without falling to pieces at the first touch. — 
Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, Appendix, p. 232. 



Cromwell. 

''Cromwell" is one of those plays rejected as Shake- 
spear's, and certainly with great reason, for it has upon 
the whole less of those marks of his genius and judgment 
than any of those pieces that have been merely attributed 
to him. That he had some concern in it, however, can- 
not be doubted. The foot of Hercules can belong only 
to Hercules. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, A Complete His- 
tory of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 90. 



"Thomas Lord Cromwell" is a piece of such utterly 
shapeless, spiritless, bodiless, soulless, senseless, helpless, 
worthless, rubbish, that there is no known writer of Shake- 
speare's age to whom it could be ascribed without the 
infliction of an unwarrantable insult on that writer's 
memory. — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A 
Study 0} Shakespeare, Appendix, p. 232. 



Yorkshire Tragedy. 

Is by some attributed to Shakespear; as however all 
his commentators, except Mr. Steevens, have agreed to 



REJECTED PLAYS. 26/ 

reject it, to avoid unnecessary cavil, we will agree so far 
with them as to say that it seems to stand in a predica- 
ment something between "Pericles," and "Locrine;" for 
though there are evidently many images which appear 
to have emanated from the mind of Shakespear, those 
passages seem rather to have been written for the assist- 
ance of another than that the whole belonged to himself. 
Let the belief, however, rest either way, the merit of it 
cannot assist any more than the imperfections of it can 
diminish his reputation. — Dibdin, Charles, 1795, ^ 
Complete History of the Stage, vol. iii, p. 335. 



For concentrated might and overwhelming weight of 
realism, this lurid little play beats '*A Warning for Fair 
Women" fairly out of the field. It is and must always 
be (I had nearly said, thank heaven) unsurpassable for 
pure potency of horror; and the breathless heat of the 
action, its raging rate of speed, leaves actually no breath- 
ing-time for disgust; it consumes our very sense of repul- 
sion as with fire. But such power as this, though a rare 
and a great gift, is not the right quality for a dramatist; 
it is not the fit property of a poet. Ford and Webster, 
even Tourneur and Marston, who have all been more or 
less wrongfully though more or less plausibly attacked on 
the score of excess in horror, have none of them left us 
^anything so nakedly terrible, so terribly naked as this. 
Passion is here not merely stripped to the skin but stripped 
to the bones. I cannot tell who could and I cannot guess 
who would have written it. *"Tis a very excellent piece 
of work;" may we never exactly look upon its like again! 
— Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1880, A Study of 
Shakespeare, p. 143. 



268 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 

Editors and commentators upon Shakspeare appear at 
every turn in all societies. In the club-house we meet 
three or four of a morning; in the park, see them medi- 
tating by the Serpentine, or under a tree in Kensington 
Gardens; no dinner table is without one or two; in the 
theatre you view them by dozens. Volume after volume 
is poured out in note, comment, conjecture, new reading, 
statement or mis-statement, contradiction, or variation of 
all kinds. Reviews, magazines, and newspapers, repeat 
these with so little mercy on the reader, as to give occa- 
sional emendations of their own. Some descant upon his 
sentiments, some upon his extravagancies, some upon his 
wonderful creations or flights of imagination, some upon 
his language or phraseology. Several suppose that he 
wrote more plays than he acknowledged; others, that he 
fathered more than he had written. While the last 
opinions are still more original and extraordinary — that 
his name is akin to a myth, and that he wrote no plays 
at all! Every new aspirant in this struggle for distinc- 
tion aims to push his predecessor from his stool. — Prior, 
Sir James, 1780-90, Li]e of Edmund M alone, Editor of 
Shakspeare, p. 47. 

Alas, Shakespeare! Lethe is upon thee! But if it 
drown thee, it will give up and work the resurrection of 
better men and more worthy. Thou hast had thy cen- 
tury; they are about having theirs. . . . He was not the 
mate of the literary characters of his day, and none knew 
it better than himself. It is a fraud upon the world to 
thrust his surreptitious fame upon us. He had none that 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 269 

was worthy of being transmitted. The enquiry will be, 
who were the able literary men who wrote the dramas 
imputed to him? The plays themselves, or rather a 
small portion of them, will live as long as English litera- 
ture is regarded as worth pursuit. The authorship of the 
plays is no otherwise material to us, than as a matter of 
curiosity, and to enable us to render exact justice; but 
they should not be assigned to Shakespeare alone, if at 
all. — Hart, Joseph C, 1848, The Ancient Lethe. 



Shall this crowning literary product of that great epoch, 
wherein these new ages have their beginning, vividly ar- 
ranged in its choicest refinements, flashing everywhere 
on the surface with its costliest wit, crowded everywhere 
with its subtlest scholasticisms, betraying, on every page, 
its broadest, freshest range of experience, its most varied 
culture, its profoundest insight, its boldest grasp of com- 
prehension — shall this crowning result of so many pre- 
ceding ages of growth and culture, with its essential, and 
now palpable connection with the new scientific move- 
ment of the time from which it issues, be able to conceal 
from us, much longer, its history ? — Shall we be able to 
accept in explanation of it, much longer, the story of the 
Stratford poacher? — Bacon, Delia, 1856, William Shake- 
speare and his Plays, Putnam's Magazine, vol. 7, p. 2. 



I am sure that, if those who deny to Shakespeare the 
credit of writing his own dramas had thought of ascribing 
them to the judicious Hooker or the pious Bishop An- 
drews instead of Lord Bacon, they might have made a 
specious show of proof by carefully culled extracts from 
his writings. Nay, if Jeremy Taylor, whose prose is so 
full of poetry, had not been born a generation too late, I 



270 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

would engage, in the same way, to put a plausible face on 
the theory that the plays of Shakespeare, except, perhaps, 
some passages wickedly interpolated, were composed by 
the eloquent and devout author of ''Holy Living and 
Dead." — Bryant, William Cullen, 1872, Shakespeare, 
Occasional Addresses, vol. 11, p. 302. 



It is not possible for me to feel the slightest interest in 
the sort of literary feat which I consider writing upon 
''Who wrote Shakespeare?" to be. I was very intimate 
with Harness, Milman, Dyce, Collier — all Shakespearian 
editors, commentators, and scholars — and this absurd 
theory about Bacon, which was first broached a good 
many years ago, never obtained credit for a moment with 
them; nor did they ever entertain for an instant a doubt 
that the plays attributed to William Shakespeare of 
Stratford-on-Avon were really written by him. Now I 
am intimately acquainted and in frequent communication 
with William Donne, Edward Fitzgerald, and James 
Spedding, all thorough Shakespeare scholars, and the 
latter a man who has just published a work upon Bacon, 
which has been really the labor of his life; none of these 
men, competent judges of the matter, ever mention the 
question of "Who wrote Shakespeare?" except as a lu- 
dicrous thing to be laughed at, and I think they may be 
trusted to decide whether it is or is not so. I have a 
slight feeling of disgust at the attack made thus on the 
personality of my greatest mental benefactor; and consider 
the whole thing a misapplication, not to say waste, of 
time and ingenuity that might be better employed. As 
I regard the memory of Shakespeare with love, venera- 
tion, and gratitude, and am proud and happy to be his 
countrywoman, considering it among the privileges of my 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 2/1 

English birth, I resent the endeavor to prove that he de- 
served none of these feelings, but was a mere literary im- 
postor, I wonder the question had any interest for you, 
for I should not have supposed you imagined Shakespeare 
had not written his own plays, Irish though you be. Do 
you remember the servant's joke in the farce of ''High 
Life Below Stairs" where the cook asks, "Who wrote 
Shakespeare?" and one of the others answers, with, at 
any rate, partial plausibility, "Oh! why, CoUey Cibber, 
to be sure!" — Kemble, Frances Anne, 1874, Further 
Records, A Series of Letters, p. 53. 



We may be told, at this stage, that such an extent of 
search and demonstration as I have devoted to these 
Baconian points is not necessary to dispose of a bubble 
which had never floated among the public with any 
amount of success; and we may be flippantly assured that 
the inexorable reasoning faculty of Time alone, would, 
of itself, dispel the fallacy; but such contemptuous treat- 
ment is not adequate to the destruction of a theory which 
has received the support of such minds as that of Lord 
Palmerston, in England, and such scholars and critics as 
Judge Holmes and General Butler in America. Bubbles 
thus patronized must be entirely exploded, or they will 
be sure to reappear whenever the world has a sick or 
idle hour, and delusions find their opportunity to strike. 
Moreover, nothing is lost by our inquiries, after all, be- 
yond a little time; and I doubt not that all true admirers 
of our poet will agree, that one new ray of light which 
may thus be thrown upon the character and history of 
Shakespeare, will justify octavos of discussion. — Wilkes, 
George, 1877, Shakespeare from an American Point of 
View, p. 457. 



272 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The critic has the same interest in the works of Miss 
Delia Bacon, Mr. W. H. Smith, and Judge Holmes, as 
the physician has in morbid anatomy. He reads them, 
not so much for the light which they throw on the ques- 
tion of authorship, as for their interest as examples of 
wrong-headedness. It is not at all a matter of moment 
whether Bacon, Raleigh, or another be the favorite on 
whom the works are fathered, but it is instructive to dis- 
cover by what plausible process the positive evidences of 
Shakespeare's authorship (scanty as they are) are put 
out of court. — Ingleby, Clement Mansfield, 1877, 
Shakespeare: The Man and the Book. 



When we ask whether it would have been easier for the 
author of the philosophy to have composed the drama, or 
the dramatic poet to have written the philosophy, the 
answer will depend upon which is the greater of the two. 
The greater includes the less, but the less cannot include 
the greater. . . . Great as are the thoughts of the *' No- 
vum Organum," they are far inferior to that world of 
thought which is in the drama. We can easily conceive 
that Shakespeare, having produced in his prime the 
wonders and glories of the plays, should in his after 
leisure have developed the leading ideas of the Baconian 
philosophy. But it is difficult to imagine that Bacon, 
while devoting his main strength to politics, to law, to 
philosophy, should have, as a mere pastime for his leisure, 
produced in his idle moments the greatest intellectual 
work ever done on earth. — Clarke, James Freeman, 
1 88 1, Did Shakespeare Write Bacon's Works? North 
American Review, vol. 132, p. 171. 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 273 

This work undertakes to demonstrate, not only that 
William Shakespeare did not, but that Francis Bacon 
did, write the plays and poems. It presents a critical 
view of the personal history of the two men, their educa- 
tion,, learning, attainments, surroundings, and associates, 
the contemporaneousness of the writings in question, in 
prose and verse, an account of the earlier plays and edi- 
tions, the spurious plays, and "the true original copies." 
It gives some evidence that Bacon was known to be the 
author by some of his contemporaries. It shows in what 
manner William Shakespeare came to have the reputa- 
tion of being the writer. It exhibits a variety of facts 
and circumstances, which are strongly suggestive of 
Bacon as the real author. A comparison of the writings 
of contemporary authors in prose and verse, proves that 
no other writer of that age, but Bacon, can come into 
any competition for the authorship, ... It is recog- 
nized that the evidence drawn from historical facts and 
biographical circumstances, are not in themselves alone 
entirely conclusive of the matter, however suggestive or 
significant as clearing the way for more decisive proofs, or as 
raising a high degree of probability; and it is conceded, 
that, in the absence of more direct evidence, the most deci- 
sive proof attainable is to be found in a critical and thorough 
comparison of the writings themselves, and that such a 
comparison will clearly establish the identity of the author 
as no other than Francis Bacon. — Holmes, Nathaniel, 
1884, The Authorship of Shakespeare, Bibliography of the 
Bacon-Shakespeare Controversy, ed. Wyman, p. 28. 



Bacon could no more have written the plays than 
Shakespeare could have prophesied the triumphs of nat- 
ural philosophy. — Church, Richard William, 1884- 
88, Bacon, p. 218. 



274 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

The ingenious critics who insist on merging the exist- 
ence of Shakespeare in the philosophy of Bacon, are not 
entirely without excuse for their infatuation. — Fraser, 
John, 1887, Chaucer to Longfellow, p. 311. 



As to the actuality of the Cipher there can be but one 
conclusion. A long, continuous narrative, running through 
many pages, detailing historical events in a perfectly 
symmetrical, rhetorical, grammatical manner, and always 
growing out of the same numbers, employed in the same 
way, and counting from the same, or similar, starting- 
points, cannot he otherwise than a pre-arranged arithmetical 
cipher. Let those who would deny this proposition pro- 
duce a single page of a connected story, eliminated, by 
an arithmetical rule, from any other work; in fact, let 
them find five words that will cohere, by accident, in 
due order, in any publication, where they were not first 
placed with intent and aforethought. I have never yet 
been able to find even three such. Regularity does not 
grow out of chaos. There can be no intellectual order 
without preexisting intellectual purpose. The fruits of 
mind can only be found where mind is or has been, — 
Donnelly, Ignatius, 1887, The Great Cryptogram, In- 
troduction, p. v. 

Some attempts have been recently made to extinguish 
Shakspeare's individuality in Bacon's. Any reader who 
intimately knows and sincerely loves both authors in- 
stinctively feels that the external evidence against Shak- 
speare's real existence is simply unworthy of critical con- 
sideration. Shakspeare's vast mind is in itself a sufficient 
puzzle for the critic and the metaphysician to explain; to 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 2/5 

blend it with Bacon's is to double the difficulties of the 
problem. Shakspeare and Bacon are both high above 
the ordinary range of even eminent intellects and souls; 
but to say that Bacon "wrote Shakspeare" is to intro- 
duce hopeless confusion into the philosophy of the human 
mind. Every critic who has the slightest discernment of 
spirits must know that the mental processes of Shakspeare 
and Bacon are fundamentally different, — a difference 
which goes deep down into vital sources of individual 
genius. Shakspeare individualizes the results of his 
knowledge; Bacon generalizes the results of his. The 
mind of Shakspeare darts to conclusions; the mind of 
Bacon moves to them with a gravity worthy of a lord 
chancellor. Both are men of large reason, large under- 
standing, large imagination, large individuality; but they 
are different not only in degree, but in kind. It would 
be impossible for any intelligent critic to reconcile a really 
characteristic work of Shakspeare with a really character- 
istic work of Bacon. The mental processes of the two 
men are radically dissimilar. — Whipple, Edwin P., 
1888, Outlooks on Society, Literature and Politics, p. 300. 



The portrait, after all, that forms the frontispiece to 
the plays does not look like a perfect fool. It is not a 
bad nor a mean forehead, is it? If the person it repre- 
sents did not do something remarkable, one cannot help 
wondering why not, with that great brain, and that speak- 
ing face. What did Ben Jonson mean by those verses 
of his, saying that this "was for the gentle Shakespeare 
cut"? Did he mean by gentle, silly? When he spoke of 
his wit, did he speak ironically? Or did Bacon buy up 
him too, and get him to write this lie? Joking apart, I 
think nothing more monstrous was ever conceived than 



2/6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

this theory. It is too foolish even to be entitled to con- 
sideration. — Story, William Wetmore, 1890, Conver- 
sations in a Studio, vol. 1, p. 173. 



It is well known that in recent days a troop of less than 
half-educated people have put forth the doctrine that 
Shakespeare lent his name to a body of poetry with 
which he had really nothing to do — which he could not 
have understood, much less have written. Literary criti- 
cism is an instrument which, like all delicate tools, must 
be handled carefully, and only by those who have a vo- 
cation for it. Here it has fallen into the hands of raw 
Americans and fanatical women. Feminine criticism on 
the one hand, with its lack of artistic nerve, and Ameri- 
canism on the other hand, with its lack of spiritual deli- 
cacy, have declared war to the knife against Shakespeare's 
personality, and have within the last few years found a 
considerable number of adherents. We have here an- 
other proof, if any were needed, that the judgment of the 
multitude, in questions of art, is a negligible quantity. 
Before the middle of this century, it had occurred to no 
human being to doubt that — trifling exceptions apart — 
the works attributed to Shakespeare were actually written 
by him. It has been reserved for the last forty years to 
see an ever-increasing stream of obloquy and contempt 
directed against what had hitherto been the most hon- 
oured name in modern literature. — Brandes, George, 
1898, William Shakespeare, A Critical Study, vol. i, p. 104. 



The abundance of the contemporary evidence attesting 
Shakespeare's reponsibility for the works published under 
his name gives the Baconian theory no rational right to a 
hearing; while such authentic examples of Bacon's effort 



AUTHORSHIP CONTROVERSY. 2/7 

to write verse as survive prove beyond all possibility of 
contradiction that, great as he was as a prose-writer and 
a philosopher, he was incapable of penning any of the 
poetry assigned to Shakespeare. Defective knowledge 
and illogical or casuistical argument alone render any 
other conclusion possible. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, A Life 
of William Shakespeare, p. 373, Appendix. 



It appears that the author of the plays took little care 
for their preservation, while Bacon took the greatest 
pains to preserve his acknowledged writings, even when 
their publication must be postponed; that he was familiar 
with English poetry, songs and plays, both published and 
unpublished, some of the latter having no existence, 
probably, outside of the theatres, while there is nothing 
to show that Bacon had any knowledge of or taste for 
such writings, or that he could have had access to the 
unpublished plays, and in fact it seems probable that he 
despised them all; that Shakespeare was known and 
recognized as a poet from poems of conspicuous merit 
and undoubted authenticity, while Bacon produced no 
poem worthy of notice, and with a single exception was 
never spoken of by his contemporaries as a writer of 
poetry; that the author, moreover, shows an acquaintance 
with Warwickshire, the home of Shakespeare, and used 
names and language relating to habits, customs, sports, 
there prevalent, and to occupations with which Shake- 
speare was familiar, and also used provincialisms there 
current, while Bacon is not known ever to have visited 
that part of England; that he was also steeped in knowl- 
edge of rural life, and of the customs and habitual modes 
of speech of the lower classes, which Bacon would natu- 
rally have less acquaintance with; that the plays abound 



278 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

in anachronisms, historical errors, and obscurities and 
other peculiarities in the text, which Bacon was less 
likely than Shakespeare to fall into; and that the author 
was familiar with, and was full to repletion of allusions 
to, theatrical matters, and the habits and technical lan- 
guage of actors, which formed the daily life and speech of 
Shakespeare, while Bacon must have been less conver- 
sant if not entirely unacquainted with them. All of these 
circumstances tend in a greater or less degree to negative 
the theory of Baconian authorship; and the combined or 
cumulative force of so many detailed facts, all pointing in 
the same direction, is certainly a consideration of great 
weight. — Allen, Charles, 1900, Notes on the Bacon- 
Shakespeare Question, p. 237. 



GENERAL. 



?And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made 
To mock her selfe, and Truth to imitate, 
With kindly counter under Mimick shade, 
Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late: 
With whom all joy and jolly meriment 
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent. 

— Spenser, Edmund, 1591, The Teares of the 
Muses, Spenser's Works, ed. Collier, vol. 
iv, P- 335- 



As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pytha- 
goras: so the sweet witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous 
and honey-tongued Shakespeare. Witness his Venus and 
Adonis; his Lucrece; his sugared Sonnets, among his pri- 



GENERAL. 2/9 

vate friends; &c. As Plautus and Seneca are accounted 
the best for Comedy and Tragedy among the Latins: so 
Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in 
both kinds for the stage. For Comedy: witness his Gen- 
tlemen of Verona; his (Comedy of) Errors; his Love's 
Labour's Lost; his Love's Labour's Won (? All's Well 
that Ends Well) his Midsummer Night's Dream; and his 
Merchant of Venice. For tragedy: his Richard II., 
Richard III., Henry IV., King John, Titus Andronicus, 
and his Romeo and Juliet. As Epius Stolo said that the 
Muses would speak with Plautus's tongue, if they would 
speak Latin: so I say that the Muses would speak with 
Shakespeare's fine filed phrase; if they would speak Eng- 
lish. — Meres, Francis, 1598, Palladis Tamia. 



Honie-tong'd Shekespeare, when I saw thine issue, 

I swore Apollo got them and none other, 

Their rosie-tainted features cloth'd in tissue, 

Some heaven born goddesse said to be their mother: 

Rose-cheekt Adonis with his amber tresses, 

Faire fire-hot Venus charming him to love her, 

Chaste Lucretia virgine-like her dresses, 

Proud lust-stung Tarquine seeking still to prove her. 

Romea, Richard, more whose names I know not, 

Their sugred tongues and power attractive beuty 

Say they are Saints, althogh that Sts. they shew not 

For thousands vowes to them subjective dutie: 

They burn in love, thy children Shakespear het the, 

Go, wo thy Muse, more Nymphish brood beget them. 

— Weever, John, 1599, Epigrammes in the Oldest 

Cut and Newest Fashion. 



Our English Terence. — Davies, John, of Hereford, 
161 1, The Scourge of Folly, Works, ed. Grosart, p. 26. 



28o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Soule of the Age! 
The applause! delight! the wonder of our Stage! 
My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by 
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lye 
A little further, to make thee a roome: 
Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe, 
And art alive still, while thy Booke doth Hve, 
And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 
That I not mixe thee so, my braine excuses; 
I meane with great, but disproportion 'd Muses: 
For, if I thought my judgement were of yeeres, 
I should commit thee surely with thy peeres, 
And tell, how farre thou didstst our Lily outshine, 
Or sporting Kid, or Marlowes mighty line. 
And though thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke, 
From thence to honour thee, I would not seeke 
For names; but call forth thund'ring ^schiluSj 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead. 
To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread. 
And shake a Stage: Or, when thy Sockes were on, 
Leave thee alone, for the comparison 
Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughtie Rome sent forth, 
or since did from their ashes come. 

He was not of an age, but for all time! 
And all the Muses still were in their prime, 
When like Apollo he came forth to warme 
Our eares, or like a Mercury to charme! 
Nature her selfe was proud of his designes, 
And joy'd to weare the dressing of his lines! 
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other Wit. 

Sweet Swan of Avon/ 



GENERAL. 28 1 

Shine forth, thou Starre of Foets, and with rage, 
Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage; 
Which, since thy flight fro hence, hath mourn 'd Hke night, 
And despaires day, but for thy Volumes Hght. 

— JoNSON, Ben, 1623, Shakespeare' s Works, Fre- 
jace. 

And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the 
Stage at Black-Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes 
dailie, know, these Playes have had their triall alreadie, 
and stood out all Appeales; and do now come forth 
quitted rather by a Decree of Court, then any purchas'd 
Letters of commendation. It had bene a thing, we con- 
fesse, worthie to have bene wished, that the Author him- 
selfe had liv'd to have set forth, and overseen his owne 
writtings; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and 
he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not 
envie his Friends, the office of their care, and paine, to 
have collected & publish' d them; and so to have pub- 
lish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with di- 
verse stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and de- 
formed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors, 
that expos' d them: even those, are now offer'd to your 
view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and all the rest, 
absolute in their numbers, as he conceived the. Who, as 
he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle 
expresser of it. His mind and hand went together: And 
what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse, that wee 
have scarse received from him a blot in his papers. But 
it is not our province, who onely gather his works, and 
give them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade him. 
And there we hope, to your divers capacities, you will 
finde enough, both to draw, and hold you: for his wit 



282 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

can no more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him, 
therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you doe 
not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger, 
not to understand him. And so we leave you to other 
of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee your guides: 
if you neede them not, you can leade your selves, and 
others. And such Readers we wish him. — Heminge, 
John, and Condell, Henrie, 1623, First Folio Edition 
of Shakes pear e^s Works, Address to the Reader. 



Those hands, which you so clapt, go now, and ring 
You Britaines brave; for done are Shakespeares dayes: 
His dayes are done, that made the dainty Playes, 
Which make the Globe of heav'n and earth to ring. 
Dry'de is that veine, dry'd is the Thespian Spring, 
Turn'd all to teares, and Phcehus clouds his rayes: 
That corp's, that cofhn now besticke those bayes, 
Which crown 'd him Poet first, then Poets King. 

— Holland, Hugh, 1623, Prefixed to the First 
Folio Edition of Shakespeare^ s Works. 



Shakespeare thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine, 
Fitting the socke, and in thy natural braine, 
As strong conception, and as Cleere a rage, 
As any one that trafiqu'd with the stage. 
— Drayton, Michael, 1627, Of Poets and Poesie. 



I remember, the Players have often mentioned it as an 
honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, (whatsoever 
he penn'd) hee never blotted out line. My answer hath 
beene, would he had blotted a thousand. Which they 
thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity 
this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circum- 



GENERAL, 283 

stance to commend their friend by, wherein he most 
faulted. And to justifie mine owne candor, (for I lov'd 
the man, and doe honour his memory (on this side Idol- 
atry) as much as any.) Hee was (indeed) honest, and of 
an open, and free nature: had an excellent Phantsie; 
brave notions, and gentle expressions: wherein hee flow'd 
with that facility, that sometime it was necessary he 
should be stop'd: Sufflaminandus erat; as Augustus said 
of Haterius. His wit was in his owne power; would the 
rule of it had beene so too. Many times hee fell into 
those things, could not escape laughter: As when hee 
said in the person of Ccesar, one speaking to him; Casar 
thou dost me wrong. Hee replyed: Ccesar did never wrong, 
but with just cause: and such like; which were ridiculous. 
But hee redeemed his vices, with his vertues. There was 
ever more in him to be praysed, then to be pardoned. — 
JoNSON, Ben, 1630-37, Timber, or Discoveries. 

What neede my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones, 
The labour of an Age, in piled stones 
Or that his hallow'd Reliques should be hid 
Under a starre-ypointing Pyramid? 
Dear Sonne of Memory-, great Heire of Fame,. 
What needst thou such dull witnesse of thy Name? 
Thou in our wonder and astonishment 
Hast built thy selfe a lasting Monument: 
For whil'st to th' shame of slow-endevouring Art 
Thy easie numbers flow, and that each part, 
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued Booke, 
Those Delphicke Lines with deepe Impression tooke 
Then thou our fancy of her selfe berea\dng, 
Dost make us Marble with too much conceiving, 
And so Sepulcher'd in such pompe dost lie 
That Kings for such a Tombe would wish to die. 
— Milton, John, 1630, An Epitaph on the ad- 
mirable Dramaticke Poet, W. Shakespeare. 



284 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

In a Conversation between Sir John Suckling, Sir 
William D'Avenant, Endymion Porter, Mr. Hales of 
Eaton, and Ben Johnson, Sir John Suckling, who was a 
profess'd admirer of Shakespear, had undertaken his De- 
fence against Ben Johnson with some warmth; Mr. Hales, 
who had sat still for some time, hearing Ben frequently 
reproaching him with the want of Learning, and Igno- 
rance of the Antients, told him at last, "That if Mr. 
Shakespear had not read the Antients, he had likewise 
not stollen any thing from 'em; [a fault the other made 
no Conscience of] and that if he would produce any one 
Topick finely treated by any of them, he would under- 
take to shew something upon the same Subject at least 
as well written by Shakespear." — Hales, John, of 
Eton, c 1633, Some Account of the Life of Mr. William 
Shakespear, prefixed to the edition of his Works by Nicho- 
las Rowe, 1709, vol. I, p. xiv. 



Thy Muses sugred dainties seeme to us 
Like the fam'd Apples of old Tantalus: 
For we (admiring) see and heare thy straines, 
But none I see or heare, those sweets attaines. 
— Bancroft, Thomas, 1639, Two Bookes of Epi- 
grammes, and Epitaphs, No. 118. 



One asked another what Shakespeares workes were 
worth, all being bound together? hee answered, not a 
farthing: not worth a farthing, said he, why so? He an- 
swered, that his playes were worth a great deale of money, 
but he never heard that his workes were worth anything 
at all. — Chamberlain, Robert, 1640, Jocabella, or a 
Cabinet of Conceits. 



GENERAL. 28$ 

In speaking of this we entred Loves Library, which 
was very spacious, and compleatly filled with great va- 
riety of Bookes of all faculties, and in all kindes of Vol- 
umes. . . . There was also Shakespeere, who (as Cupid 
informed me) creepes into the womens closets about bed 
time, and if it were not for some of the old out-of-date 
Grandames (who are set over the rest as their tutoresses) 
the young sparkish Girles would read in Shakespeere day 
and night, so that they would open the Booke or Tome, 
and the men with a Fescue in their hands should point to 
the Verse. — Johnson, John, 1641, The Academy 0} 
Love, pp. 96-99. 



The Sweetest Swan of Avon, to y^ faire 
And Cruel Delia, passionatelie Sings: 
Other mens weakenesses and follies are 
Honour and witt in him; each Accent brings 
A Sprig to Crowne him Poet; and Contrive 
A Monument, in his ovvne worke, to live. 
- Daniel, George, 1647, Vindication 0} Poesie, 
ed. Grosart. 



Shakespeare to thee was dull, whose best jest lyes 
I' th Ladies questions, and the Fooles replyes; 
Old fashion'd wit, which walkt from town to town 
In turn'd Hose, which our fathers call'd the Clown; 
Whose wit our nice times would obsceanness call, 
And which made Bawdry pass for Comicall; 
Nature was all his Art, thy veine was free 
As his, but without his scurility. 

— Cart WRIGHT, William, 1647, Upon the Dra- 
matick Poems of Mr. John Fletcher. 



286 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

I wonder how that person you mention in your letter, 
could either have the conscience, or confidence to dis- 
praise Shakes pear'' s playes, as to say they were made up 
onely with clowns, fools, watchmen, and the like; but to 
answer that person, though Shakes p ear'' s wit will answer 
for himself, I say, that it seems by his judging, or cen- 
suring, he understands not playes, or wit. . . . 'Tis 
harder, and requires more wit to express a jester, than a 
grave statesman; yet Shakespear did not want wit, to ex- 
press to the life all sorts of persons, of what quality, pro- 
fession, degree, breeding, or birth soever; nor did he 
want wit to express the divers and different humours, or 
natures, or several passions in mankind; and so well he 
hath express'd in his playes all sorts of persons, as one 
would think he had been transformed into every one of 
those persons he hath described; and as sometimes one 
would think he was really himself the clown or jester he 
feigns, so one would think, he was also the king, and 
privy-councillor; also as one would think he were really 
the coward he feigns, so one would think he were the most 
valiant and experienced souldier. — Cavendish, Mar- 
garet, 1664, CCXI Sociable Letters written by the Lady 
Marchioness of Newcastle, Letter CXXIIL 



But Shakespear^s magic could not copyed be; 
Within that circle none durst walk but he. 

— Dryden, John, 1669, The Tempest, Prologue. 



His comoedies will remaine witt as long as the English 
tongue is understood, for that he handles mores hominum. 
Now our present writers reflect so much upon particular 
persons and coxcombeities, that twenty yeares hence they 
will not be understood. Though, as Ben: Johnson sayes 



GENERAL. 287 

of him, that he had but little Latine and lesse Greek, 
he understood Latine pretty well, for he had been in his 
younger yeares a schoolmaster in the countrey. — from 
Mr. . . . Beeston. — Aubrey, John, 1669-96, 5rie/ Lw^j, 
ed. Clark, vol. 11, p. 227. 



Shakespeare, who many times has written better than 
any poet, in any language, is yet so far from writing wit 
always, or expressing that wit according to the dignity 
of the subject, that he writes, in many places, below the 
dullest writers of ours, or any precedent age. Never did 
any author precipitate himself from such height of thought 
to so low expressions, as he often does. He is the very 
Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; 
and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you 
despise the other. . . . Let us therefore admire the beau- 
ties and the height of Shakespeare, without falling after 
him into a carelessness, and, as I may call it, a lethargy 
of thought, for whole scenes together. — Dryden, John, 
1672, An Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of the Last Age, 
Works, ed. Scott and Saintsbury, vol. iv, pp. 236, 242. 



William Shakespeare, the glory of the English stage, 
whose nativity at Stratford upon Avon, is the highest 
honour that town can boast of: from an actor of tragedies 
and comedies, he became a maker; and such a maker, 
that though some others may perhaps pretend to a more 
exact decorum and oeconomie, especially in tragedy, never 
any expressed a more lofty and tragic height; never any 
represented nature more purely to the life, and where the 
polishments of art are most wanting, as probably his 
learning was not extraordinary, he pleaseth with a certain 
wild and native elegance; and in all his writings hath an 



288 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

unvulgar style, as well in his ''Venus and Adonis," his 
"Rape of Lucrece," and other various poems, as in his 
dramatics. — Phillips, Edward, 1675, Theatrum Poeta- 
rum Anglicanorum, ed. Brydges, p. 240. 



Shakespear was the first that opened this vein upon our 
stage, which has run so freely and so pleasantly ever 
since, that I have often wondered to find it appear so little 
upon any others, being a subject so proper for them; 
since humour is but a picture of particular life, as comedy 
is of general. — Temple, Sir William, 1680-90, Of 
Poetry, Works, vol. iii, p. 412. 



Our Shakespear wrote too in an age as blest, 
The happiest poet of his time, and best, 
A gracious Prince's favour chear'd his Muse, 
A constant Favour he ne'er fear'd to lose. 
Therefore he wrote with Fancy unconfin'd, 
And Thoughts that were Immortal as his Mind. 
And from the Crop of his luxuriant Pen 
E'er since succeeding Poets humbly glean. 
— Otway, Thomas, 1680, History and Fall of 
Caius Marius, Prologue. 



I confess I cou'd never yet get a true account of his 
Learning, and am apt to think it more than Common 
Report allows him. I am sure he never touches on a 
Roman Story, but the Persons, the Passages, the Manners, 
the Circumstances, the Ceremonies, all are Roman. And 
what Relishes yet of a more exact Knowledge, you do 
not only see a Roman in his Heroe, but the particular 
Genius of the Man, without the least mistake of his 
Character, given him by their best Historians. You find 



GENERAL. 289 

his Anthony in all the Defects and Excellencies of his 
Mind, a Souldier, a Reveller, Amorous, sometimes Rash, 
sometimes Considerate, with all the various Emotions of 
his Mind. His Brutus agen has all the Constancy, Grav- 
ity, Morality, Generosity, Imaginable, without the least 
Mixture of private Interest or Irregular Passion. He is 
true to him, even in the imitation of his Oratory, the fa- 
mous Speech which he makes him deliver, being exactly 
agreeable to his manner of expressing himself; of which 
we have this account, Facultas ejus erat Militaris df 
Bellicis accommodata Tumultuhus. But however it far'd 
with our Author for Book-Learning, 'tis evident that no 
man was better studied in Men and Things, the most 
useful Knowledge for a Dramatic Writer. He was a 
most diligent Spie upon Nature, trac'd her through her 
darkest Recesses, pictur'd her in her just Proportion and 
Colours; in which Variety 'tis impossible that all shou'd 
be equally pleasant, 'tis sufficient that all be proper. — 
Tate, Nahum, 1680, The Loyal General, a Tragedy, Ad- 
dress to Edward Tayler. 



Shackspear whose fruitfull Genius, happy Wit 
Was fram'd and finisht at a lucky hit 
The Pride of Nature, and the shame of Schools, 
Born to Create, and not to Learn from Rules. 

— Sedley, Sir Charles, 1693, The Wary Widow, 
by Henry Higden, Prologue. 



Besides some laudable Attempts which have been made 
with tolerable Success, of late years, towards a just man- 
ner of Writing, both in the heroick and familiar Style; 
we have older Proofs of a right Disposition in our People 
towards the moral and instructive Way. Our old dra- 



290 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

matick Poet, Shakespear, may witness for our good Ear 
and manly Relish. Notwithstanding his natural Rude- 
ness, his unpolish'd Style, his antiquated Phrase and 
Wit, his want of Method and Coherence, and his De- 
ficiency in almost all the Graces and Ornaments of this 
kind of Writings; yet by the Justness of his Moral, the 
Aptness of many of his Descriptions, and the plain and 
natural Turn of several of his Characters, he pleases his 
Audience, and often gains their Ear, without a single 
Bribe from Luxury or Vice. — Shaftesbury, Anthony, 
Earl of, 1710, Advice to an Author, Characteristics j 
Works, vol. I, p. 275. 

And yet in Shakespeare something still I find, 
That makes me less esteem all human kind; 
He made one nature, and another found, 
Both in his page with master strokes abound: 
His witches, fairies, and enchanted isle, 
Bid us no longer at our nurses smile; 
Of lost historians we almost complain, 
Nor think it the creation of his brain, 
Who lives, when his Othello's in a trance? 
With his great Talbot too he conquer'd France. 
— Young, Edward, 1712, An Epistle to Lord 
Lansdowne. 



Among the English [who have introduced fairies, 
witches, &c.] Shakespeare has incomparably excelled all 
others. That noble extravagance of fancy, which he had 
in so great perfection, thoroughly qualified him to touch 
this weak, superstitious part of his reader's imagination; 
and made him capable of succeeding where he had noth- 
ing to support him besides the strength of his own genius. 



GENERAL, 29I 

There is something so wild, and yet so solemn, in the 
speeches of his ghosts, fairies, witches, and the like 
imaginary persons, that we cannot forbear thinking them 
natural, though we have no rule by which to judge of 
them, and must confess, if there are such beings in the 
world, it looks highly probable they should talk and act 
as he has represented them. — Addison, Joseph, 1712, 
Spectator, No. 419, July i. 



If ever any author deserved the name of an original, 
it was Shakespear. Homer himself drew not his art so 
immediately from the fountains of Nature; it proceeded 
through Egyptian strainers and channels, and came to 
him not without some tincture of the learning, or some 
cast of the models, of those before him. The poetry of 
Shakespear was inspiration indeed; he is not so much an 
imitator as an instrument of Nature; and it is not so just 
to say that he speaks from her, as that she speaks through 
him. His characters are so much Nature herself, that 'tis 
a sort of injury to call them by so distant a name as 
copies of her. Those of other poets have a constant 
resemblance, which shows that they received them from 
one another, and were but multipliers of the same image; 
each picture, like a mock rainbow, is but the reflection 
of a reflection. But every single character in Shakespear 
is as much an individual as those in life itself; it is as 
impossible to find any two alike; and such as from their 
relation or affinity in any respect appear most to be 
twins, will upon comparison be found remarkably dis- 
tinct. To this life and variety of character we must add 
the wonderful preservation of it, which is such through- 
out his Plays, that, had all the speeches been printed 
without the very names of the persons, I believe one 



292 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

might have applied them with certainty to every speaker. 
The power over our passions was never possess'd in a 
more eminent degree, or displayed in so different in- 
stances. Yet all along there is seen no labour, no pains 
to raise them; no preparation to guide or guess to the 
effect, or be perceiv'd to lead towards it; but the heart 
swells, and the tears burst out, just at the proper places. 
We are surprised at the moment we weep; and yet upon 
reflection find the passion so just, that we should have 
been surprised if we had not wept, and wept at that very 
moment. — Pope, Alexander, 1725, ed. Shakspeafs Plays, 
Preface, Works, ed. Elwin and Courthope, vol. x, p. 534. 



For lofty sense, 
Creative fancy, and inspection keen 
Through the deep windings of the human heart, 
Is not wild Shakespeare thine and Nature's boast? 

— Thomson, James, 1727, The Seasons, Summer, 
V. 1563-6. 



Some ladies have shewn a truly public spirit in rescuing 
the admirable, yet almost forgotten Shakspeare, from 
being totally sunk in oblivion: — they have contributed 
to raise a monument to his memory, and frequently 
honoured his works with their presence on the stage: — 
an action which deserves the highest encomiums, and 
will be attended with an adequate reward; since, in pre- 
serving the fame of the dead bard, they add a brightness 
to their own, which will shine to late posterity. — Hay- 
wood, Eliza, 1745, The Female Spectator, vol. 1, p. 259. 



There have been some ages in which providence seemed 
pleased in a most remarkable manner to display it self, 



GENERAL. 293 

in giving to the world the finest genius's to illuminate a 
people formerly barbarous. After a long night of Gothic 
ignorance, after many ages of priestcraft and supersti- 
tion, learning and genius visited our Island in the days 
of the renowned Queen Elizabeth. It was then that 
liberty began to dawn, and the people having shook off 
the restraints of priestly austerity, presumed to think for 
themselves. At an ^Era so remarkable as this, so famous 
in his story, it seems no wonder that the nation should 
be blessed with those immortal ornaments of wit and 
learning, who all conspired at once to make it famous. 
— This astonishing genius, seemed to be commissioned 
from above, to deliver us not only from the ignorance 
under which we laboured as to poetry, but to carry poetry 
almost to its perfection. — Gibber, Theophilus, 1753, 
Lives of the Poets, vol. i, p. 123. 



Far from the sun and summer gale, 

In thy green lap was Nature's darKng laid, 

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 

Her awful face ; the dauntless child 

Stretch'd forth liis little arms and smiled, 

"This pencil take" (she said) "whose colours clear 

Richly paint the vernal year; 

Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy I 

This can unlock the gates of joy; 

Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 

— Gray, Thomas, 1755, The Progress of Poesy. 



Things of the noblest kind his genius drew, 
And look'd through Nature at a single view: 



294 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, 

And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll; 

Call'd into being scenes unknown before, 

And passing Nature's bounds, was something more. 

— Churchill, Charles, 1761, The Rosciad, v. 
264-70. 

If Shakspere be considered as a Man, born in a rude 
age, and educated in the lowest manner, without any in- 
struction, either from the world or from books, he may 
be regarded as a prodigy; if represented as a poet, capable 
of furnishing a proper entertainment to a refined or in- 
telligent audience, we must abate much of this eulogy. 
In his compositions, we regret that many irregularities, 
and even absurdities, should so frequently disfigure the 
animated and passionate scenes intermixed with them; 
and, at the same time, we perhaps admire the more 
those beauties, on account of their being surrounded 
with such deformities. A striking peculiarity of senti- 
ment, adapted to a single character, he frequently hits, as 
it were, by inspiration; but a reasonable propriety of 
thought he cannot for any time uphold. Nervous and 
picturesque expressions as well as descriptions abound in 
him; but it is in vain we look either for purity or simpli- 
city of diction. His total ignorance of all theatrical art 
and conduct, however material a defect, yet, as it affects 
the spectator rather than the reader, we can more easily 
excuse, than that want of taste which often prevails in 
his productions, and which gives way only by intervals 
to the irradiations of genius. A great and fertile genius 
he certainly possessed, and one enriched equally with a 
tragic and comic vein; but he ought to be cited as a proof, 
how dangerous it is to rely on these advantages alone for 



GENERAL. 2g$ 

attaining an excellence in the finer arts. And there may 
even remain a suspicion that we overrate, if possible, the 
greatness of his genius; in the same manner as bodies 
often appear more gigantic, on account of their being 
disproportioned and misshapen. — Hume, David, 1754- 
62, History of England, Reign of James I., Appendix. 



This therefore is the praise of Shakspeare, that his 
drama is the mirror of life; that he who has mazed his 
imagination, in following the phantoms which other 
writers raise up before him, may here be cured of his 
delirious ecstasies, by reading human sentiments in hu- 
man language, by scenes from which a hermit may esti- 
mate the transactions of the world, and a confessor pre- 
dict the progress of the passions. . . . The force of his 
comic scenes has suffered little diminution from the 
changes made by a century and a half, in manners or in 
words. As his personages act upon principles arising 
from genuine passion, very little modified by particular 
forms, their pleasures and vexations are communicable at 
all times and to all places; they are natural, and therefore 
durable; the adventitious peculiarities of personal habits 
are only superficial dyes, bright and pleasing for a little 
while, yet soon fading to a dim tinct, without any re- 
mains of former lustre; but the discriminations of true 
passion are the colours of nature; they pervade the whole 
mass, and can only perish with the body that exhibits 
them. The accidental compositions of heterogeneous 
modes are dissolved by the chance which combined 
them; but the uniform simplicity of primitive qualities 
neither admits increase, nor suffers decay. The sand 
heaped by one flood is scattered by another, but the rock 
always continues in its place. Time, which is perpetually 



296 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

washing away the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes, 
without injuring the adamant of Shakspeare. - Johnson, 
Samuel, 1768, ed. Shakspeare' s Works^ Preface. 



Shakspeare . . . that first genius of the world. . . . 
I hold a perfect comedy to be the perfection of human 
composition, and I firmly believe that fifty Iliads and 
^neids could be written sooner than such a character as 
Falstaff's. . . . Shakspeare, who was superior to all 
mankind, wrote some whole plays that are as bad as any 
of our present writers. . . . Annibal Caracci himself 
could not paint like our Raphael poet! . . . Milton and 
. . . Shakspeare, the only two mortals I am acquainted 
with who ventured beyond the visible diurnal sphere, and 
preserved their intellects. . . . Was Raphael himself as 
great a genius in his art as the author of "Macbeth?" — 
Walpole, Horace, 1776-90, Letters, vol. vi, pp. 394, 
395, VII, 135, 373, VIII, 160, IX, 254. 



The first object which presents itself to us on the Eng- 
lish theatre, is the great Shakspeare. Great he may be 
justly called, as the extent and force of his natural genius, 
both for tragedy and comedy, are altogether unrivalled. 
But, at the same time, it is genius shooting wild; deficient 
in just taste, and altogether unassisted by knowledge or 
art. Long has he been idolized by the British nation; 
much has been said, and much has been written con- 
cerning him; criticism has been drawn to the very dregs, 
in commentaries upon his words and witticisms; and yet 
it remains, to this day, in doubt, whether his beauties, 
or his faults, be greatest. Admirable scenes, and pas- 
sages without number, there are in his plays; passages 
beyond what are to be found in any other dramatic 



GENERAL. 2()y 

writer; but there is hardly any one of his plays which 
can be called altogether a good one, or which can be read 
with uninterrupted pleasure from beginning to end. Be- 
sides extreme irregularities in conduct, and grotesque 
mixtures of serious and comic in one piece, we are often 
interrupted by unnatural thoughts, harsh expressions, a 
certain obscure bombast, and a play upon words which 
he is fond of pursuing; and these interruptions to our 
pleasure too frequently occur, on occasions when we 
would least wish to meet with them. All these faults, 
however, Shakspeare redeems, by two of the greatest ex- 
cellencies which any tragic poet can possess; his lively 
and diversified paintings of character; his strong and 
natural expressions of passion. These are his two chief 
virtues; on these his merit rests. — Blair, Hugh, 1783, 
Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres, ed. Mills. 



Shakespear whose writings are the offspring of an in- 
tuition that mocks description, that shames the schools, 
and that ascertains sublimity; whose knowledge of hu- 
man nature was profound, penetrating, and infallible; 
whose morality and philosophy confirm all that was good 
and wise in the ancients; whose words are in our mouths, 
and their irresistible influence in our hearts; whose eulo- 
gium may be felt but cannot be expressed, and whose 
own pen alone was equal to the composition of his epi- 
taph: this Shakespear in the mouths of his fellow crea- 
tures is more known for a few inconsiderable blemishes, 
sprung from redundant fancy and indispensable conform- 
ity, than for innumerable beauties, delightful as truth, 
and commanding as inspiration. — Dibdin, Charles, 
1795, A Complete History 0} the Stage, vol. ill, p, l$, 



298 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

I proceed now to the mention of Shakespear, a writer 
whom no ingenuous English reader can recollect Without 
the profoundest esteem and the most unbounded admira- 
tion. His gigantic mind enabled him in a great degree 
to overcome the fetters in which the English language 
was at that period bound. In him we but rarely trace 
the languid and tedious formality which at that time 
characterised English composition. His soul was too im- 
petuous, and his sympathy with human passions too en- 
tire, not to instruct him in the shortest road to the heart. 
But Shakespear for the most part is great only, when 
great passions are to be expressed. In the calmer and 
less turbid scenes of life his genius seems in a great de- 
gree to forsake him. His wit is generally far fetched, 
trivial and cold. His tranquil style is perplexed, pedan- 
tical, and greatly disfigured with conceits. — Godwin, 
William, 1797, 0/ English Style, The Enquirer, p. 388. 



There are beauties of the first order to be found in 
Shakspeare, relating to every country and every period of 
time. His faults are those which belonged to the times 
in which he lived. ... If he excelled in exciting pity; 
what energy appeared in his terror! It was from the 
crime itself that he drew dismay and fear. It may be 
said of crimes painted by Shakspeare, as the Bible says 
of Death, that he is the King of Terrors. . . . One of 
the greatest faults which Shakspeare can be accused of, 
is his want of simplicity in the intervals of his sublime 
passages. When he is not exalted, he is affected; he 
wanted the art of sustaining himself, that is to say, of 
being as natural in his scenes of transition, as he was in 
the grand movements of the soul. — Stael, Madame de, 
1800, The Influence of Literature upon Society, ch. xiii. 



GENERAL. 299 

The admirers of the tragic and comic genius of the 
English poet seem to me to be much deceived when they 
applaud the naturalness oj his style. Shakspeare is nat- 
ural in his sentiments and ideas, never in his expressions, 
except in those fine scenes where his genius rises to its 
highest flight; yet in those very scenes his language is 
often affected; he has all the faults of the Italian writers 
of his time; he is eminently wanting in simplicity. His 
descriptions are inflated, distorted; they betray the badly- 
educated man, who, not knowing the gender, nor the 
accent, nor the exact meaning of words, introduces 
poetic expressions at hap-hazard into the most trivial sit- 
uations. — Chateaubriand, Francois Rene, Vicomte 
DE, 1 80 1, Shakspere on Shakspeare. 



The claims of this great poet on the admiration of man- 
kind are innumerable, but rhythmical modulation is not 
one of them; nor do I think it either wise or just to hold 
him forth as supereminent in every quality which con- 
stitutes genius. Beaumont is as sublime, Fletcher as 
pathetic, and Jonson as nervous. Nor let it be accounted 
poor or niggard praise to allow him only an equality 
with these extraordinary men in their peculiar excel- 
lencies, while he is admitted to possess many others, to 
which they made no approaches. Indeed if I were asked 
for the discriminating quality of Shakespeare's mind, 
that by which he is raised above all competition, above 
all prospect of rivalry, I should say it was wit. — Gir- 
FORD, William, 1805-13, Plays of Massinger, Introduc- 
iion. 



In regard to the pathos, Shakespear is greatly inferior 
to many dramatic poets. In the terrific and sublime he 



300 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

is unequalled, but he does not possess the power of Ot- 
way, and many inferior poets, in exciting pity. He is 
pre-eminent in "unlocking the gates of horror and thrill- 
ing fears," but not so *'in opening the sacred source of 
sympathetic tears." — Pye, Henry James, 1807, Com- 
ments on the Commentators on Shakespear, p. xii. 



Let princes o'er their subject kingdoms rule, 
'Tis Shakespeare's province to command the soul I 
To add one leaf, oh, Shakespeare! to thy bays, 
How vain the effort, and how mean my lays! 
Immortal Shakespeare! o'er thy hallow'd page, 
Age becomes taught, and youth is e'en made sage. 
— Bonaparte, Prince Lucien, 1810, Written in 
the Visitors^ Book at Stratford. 



Let any one compare the prodigious variety, and wide- 
ranging freedom of Shakespeare, with the narrow round 
of flames, tempests, treasons, victims, and tyrants, that 
scantily adorn the sententious pomp of the French drama, 
and he will not fail to recognise the vast superiority of 
the former, in the excitement of the imagination, and all 
the diversities of poetical delight. — Jeffrey, Francis, 
1811-44, Ford's Works, Contributions to the Edinburgh 
Review f vol. 11, p. 297. 

... the magic of that name 
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame. 
— Byron, Lord, 1812, Address Spoken at the 
Opening of Drury Lane Theatre. 



Tlie English stage rrtight be considered equally without 
rule and without model when Shakspeare arose. The 



GENERAL, 3OI 

effect of the genius of an individual upon the taste of a 
nation is mighty; but that genius, in its turn, is formed 
according to the opinions prevalent at the period when it 
comes into existence. Such was the case with Shak- 
speare. With an education more extensive, and a taste 
refined by the classical models, it is probable that he 
also, in admiration of the ancient Drama, might have 
mistaken the form for the essence, and subscribed to 
those rules which had produced such masterpieces of art. 
Fortunately for the full exertion of a genius as compre- 
hensive and versatile as intense and powerful, Shakspeare 
had no access to any models of which the commanding 
merit might have controlled and limited his own exer- 
tions. He followed the path which a nameless crowd of 
obscure writers had trodden before him; but he moved 
in it with the grace and majestic step of a being of a 
superior order; and vindicated for ever the British theatre 
from a pedantic restriction to classical rule. Nothing 
went before Shakspeare which in any respect was fit to 
fix and stamp the character of a national Drama; and 
certainly no one will succeed him capable of establishing, 
by mere authority, a form more restricted than that 
which Shakspeare used. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1814-23, 
Essay on the Drama, Prose Works. 



If intelligence and penetrating depth of observation, as 
far as they are necessary to the characterizing of life, 
were the first of poetic qualities, hardly any other poet 
could enter into competition with him. Others have 
sought to transport us, for a moment, to an ideal condi- 
tion of humanity: he presents us with a picture of man, 
in the depths of his fall and moral disorganization, with 
all his doings and sufferings, his thoughts and desires, 



302 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

with a painful minuteness. In this respect he may al- 
most be called a satirist; and well might the complicated 
enigma of existence, and of man's degradation, as set 
forth by him, produce a deeper and more lasting impres- 
sion than is made by a host of splenetic caricaturists, 
who are called satiric poets. But throughout his works 
there is a radiant reminiscence of man's pristine dignity 
and elevation, from which immorality and meanness are 
an abnormal apostasy: and on every occasion this remi- 
niscence, united to the poet's own nobility of soul and 
tender feeHng, beams forth in patriotic enthusiasm, sub- 
lime philanthropy, and glowing love. ... In the works 
of Shakspere a whole world is unfolded. Whosoever 
has comprehended this, and been penetrated with the 
spirit of his poetry will hardly allow the seeming want 
of form, or, rather, the form peculiar to his mighty 
genius, nor even the criticism of those who have miscon- 
ceived the poet's meaning, to disturb hi^ admiration; as 
he progresses he will, rather, approve the form as both 
sufficient and excellent in itself, and in harmonious con- 
formity with the spirit and essence of his art. Shakspere's 
poetry is, upon the whole, near akin to the German 
spirit: hence he is appreciated in Germany more than 
any other foreign poet, and regarded with almost native 
affection. — Schlegel, Frederick, 1815-59, Lectures on 
the History of Literature, pp. 274, 276. 



It is the peculiar excellence of Shakespear's heroines, 
that they seem to exist only in their attachment to others. 
They are pure abstractions of the affections. We think 
as little of their persons as they do themselves, because 
we are let into the secrets of their hearts, which are more 
important. We are too much interested in their affairs 



GENERAL, 303 

to stop to look at their faces, except by stealth and at 
intervals. No one ever hit the true perfection of the 
female character, the sense of weakness leaning on the 
strength of its affections for support, so well as Shake- 
spear: no one ever so well painted natural tenderness 
free from affectation and disguise: no one else ever so 
well showed how delicacy and timidity, when driven to 
extremity, grow romantic and extravagant. — Hazlitt, 
William, 1817-69, Characters of Shakespear's Plays, p. 3. 



, . . divinest Shakespere's might 
Fills Avon and the world with light 
Like omniscient power which he 
Imaged 'mid mortality. 

— Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1818, Lines written 
among the Euganean Hills. 



Merciful, wonder-making Heaven! what a man was 
this Shakspere! Myriad-minded, indeed, he was! — 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1818, Lectures and Notes 
on Shakspere, ed. Ashe, p. 251. 



Regardless of immortalizing his name, he who had 
penetrated the most hidden stores of Nature; he who had 
studied man in all his various capacities and failings; he 
to whom the retrospect of all that had been seeTned fa- 
miliar, and who, as it were, looked into the very soul of 
time, and read futurity, yet would not see his own great- 
ness beyond mortality, but suffered the hand of ignorance 
to plant sickly weeds among his ever-blooming flowers, 
and which the unabated exertions of genius, for more 
than a century, have not been able totally to destroy. — 
Jackson, Zachariah, 1819, Shakspeare's Genius Justi- 
fied, Preface, p. v. 



304 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Shakespeare is of no age. He speaks a language 
which thrills in our blood in spite of the separation of 
two hundred years. His thoughts, passions, feelings, 
strains of fancy, all are of this day, as they were of his 
own — and his genius may be contemporary with the 
mind of every generation for a thousand years to come. 
He, above all poets, looked upon men, and lived for 
mankind. His genius, universal in intellect and sympathy, 
could find, in no more bounded circumference, its proper 
sphere. It could not bear exclusion from any part of 
human existence. Whatever in nature and life was given 
to man, was given in contemplation and poetry to him 
also, and over the undimmed mirror of his mind passed 
all the shades of our mortal world. Look through his 
plays, and tell what form of existence, what quality of 
spirit, he is most skilful to delineate? Which of all the 
manifold beings he has drawn, lives before our thoughts, 
our eyes, in most unpictured reahty? Is it Othello, Shy- 
lock, Falstaff, Lear, the Wife of Macbeth, Imogen, Ham- 
let, Ariel? In none of the other great dramatists do we 
see any thing like a perfected art. In their works, every- 
thing, it is true, exists in some shape or other, which can 
be required in a drama taking for its interest the abso- 
lute interest of human life and nature; but, after all, 
may not the very best of their works be looked on as 
sublime masses of chaotic confusion, through which the 
elements of our moral being appear? It was Shake- 
speare, the most unlearned of all our writers, who first 
exhibited on the stage perfect models, perfect images of 
all human characters, and of all human events. We can- 
not conceive any skill that could from his great charac- 
ters remove any defect, or add to their perfect composi- 
tion. Except in him, we look in vain for the entire ful- 



GENERAL. 305 

ness, the self-consistency, and self-completeness of per- 
fect art. All the rest of our drama may be regarded 
rather as a testimony of the state of genius — of the state 
of mind of the country, full of great poetical disposition, 
and great tragic capacity and power — than as a collec- 
tion of the works of an art. Of Shakespeare and Homer 
alone it may be averred, that we miss in them nothing 
of the greatness of nature. In all other poets we do; 
we feel the measure of their power, and the restraint 
under which it is held; but in Shakespeare and in Homer, 
all is free and unbounded as in nature; and as we travel 
along with them, in a car drawn by celestial steeds, our 
view seems ever interminable as before, and still equally 
far off the glorious horizon. — Wilson, John, 1819, A 
Few Words on Shakespeare, Works, vol. vii, p. 420. 



Ever since I have been able to think and feel, I have 
recognized Shakspere as the first among all poets; the 
richest and deepest, the most instructive and delightful, 
the most mysterious and the clearest, and to whom I de- 
voted myself with ever new reverence and love. ... In 
Shakspere, poetry, virtue, truth, life, and history is alto- 
gether one: he is therefore not only a great poet in the 
usual sense of the word, but also for every thinking 
being an instructive author; the best expounder of the 
scriptural text, ''the earth is everywhere the Lord's." — 
Horn, Franz, 1822, Shakspeere's Schauspiele Erlduterf, 
Prefaces. 

O mighty poet! Thy works are not, as those of other 
men, simply and merely great works of art, but are also 
like the phenomena of nature — like the sun and the 
sea, the stars and the flowers, like frost and snow, rain 



306 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

and dew, hail-storm and thunder, which are to be studied 
with entire submission of our own faculties, and in the 
perfect faith that in them there can be no too much or 
too little, nothing useless or inert, but that, the further 
we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs 
of design and self-supporting arrangement where the 
careless eye had seen nothing but accident! — DeQuincey, 
Thomas, 1823-60, On The Knocking at the Gate in Mac- 
beth, Works, ed. Masson, vol. x, p. 393. 



"A dramatic talent of any importance," said Goethe, 
"could not forbear to notice Shakspeare's works, nay, 
could not forbear to study them. Having studied them, 
he must be aware that Shakspeare has already exhausted 
the whole of human nature in all its tendencies, in all its 
heights and depths, and that, in fact, there remains for 
him, the aftercomer, nothing more to do. And how 
could one get courage only to put pen to paper, if one 
were conscious in an earnest appreciating spirit, that such 
unfathomable and unattainable excellences were already 
in existence! It fared better with me fifty years ago in 
my own dear Germany. I could soon come to an end 
with all that then existed; it could not long awe me, or 
occupy my attention. I soon left behind me German 
literature, and the study of it, and turned my thoughts to 
life and to production. So on and on I went in my own 
natural development, and on and on I fashioned the 
productions of epoch after epoch. And at every step of 
life and development, my standard of excellence was not 
much higher than what at such step I was able to attain. 
But had I been born an Englishman, and had all those 
numerous masterpieces been brought before me in all 
their power, at my first dawn of youthful consciousness, 



GENERAL, 307 

they would have overpowered me, and I should not have 
known what to do. I could not have gone on with such 
fresh light-heartedness, but should have had to bethink 
myself, and look about for a long time, to find some new 
outlet." — EcKERMANN, JoHN Peter, 1824, Conversa- 
tions of Goethe, tr. Oxenford, v. i, p. 114. 



While he abandons himself to the impulse of his imagi- 
nation, his compositions are not only the sweetest and the 
most sublime, but also the most faultless that the world 
has ever seen. But as soon as his critical powers come 
into play, he sinks to the level of Cowley, or rather he 
does ill what Cowley did well. All that is bad in his 
works is bad elaborately, and of malice aforethought. 
The only thing wanting to make them perfect was, 
that he should never have troubled himself with think- 
ing whether they were good or not. Like the angels 
in Milton, he sinks "with compulsion and laborious 
flight." His natural tendency is upwards. That he may 
soar, it is only necessary that he should not struggle to 
fall. He resembled the American cacique, who, possess- 
ing in unmeasured abundance the metals which in pol- 
ished societies are esteemed the most precious, was ut- 
terly unconscious of their value, and gave up treasures 
more valuable than the imperial crowns of other coun- 
tries, to secure some gaudy and far-fetched but worthless 
bauble, a plated button, or a necklace of coloured glass. 
— Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1826, Dry den, Edin- 
burgh Review, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 



, . . An immortal man, — 
Nature's chief darling, an illustrious mate, 
Destined to foil old Death's oblivious plan, 



308 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

And shine untarnished by the fogs of Fate, 
Time's famous rival till the final date! 
— Hood, Thomas, 1828, The Flea of the Mid- 
summer Fairies, S. cv. 



I rejoice that the name of no one woman is popularly 
identified with that of Shakspeare. He belongs to us all! 
— the creator of Desdemona, and Juliet, and Ophelia, 
and Imogen, and Viola, and Constance, and Cornelia, 
and Rosalind, and Portia, was not the poet of one woman, 
but the Poet of Womankind. — Jameson, Anna Brown- 
ell, 1829, The Loves of the Foets, vol. i, p. 248. 



O thou divine human creature — greater name than 
even divine poet or divine philosopher — and yet thou 
wast all three — a very spring and vernal abundance of 
all fair and noble things is to be found in thy productions! 
They are truly a second nature. We walk in them, with 
whatever society we please; either with men, or fair 
women, or circling spirits, or with none but the whisper- 
ing airs and leaves. Thou makest worlds of green trees 
and gentle natures for us, in thy forests of Arden, and thy 
courtly retirements of Navarre. Thou bringest us amongst 
the holiday lasses on the green sward; layest us to sleep 
among fairies in the bowers of midsummer; wakest us 
with the song of the lark and the silver-sweet voices of 
lovers: bringest more music to our ears, both from earth 
and from the planets; anon settest us upon enchanted 
islands, where it welcomes us again, from the touching of 
invisible instruments; and after all, restorest us to our 
still desired haven, the arms of humanity. Whether 
grieving us or making us glad, thou makest us kinder 
and happier. The tears which thou fetchest down, are 



GENERAL. 3O9 

like the rains of April, softening the times that come 
after them. Thy smiles are those of the month of love, 
the more blessed and universal for the tears. — Hunt, 
Leigh, 1833, The Indicator, ch. xxxvi. 



Great poet, 'twas thy art, 
To know thyself, and in thyself to be 
Whate'er love, hate, ambition, destiny, 

Or the firm fatal purpose of the heart, 
Can make of Man, Yet thou wert still the same, 
Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame. 

— Coleridge, Hartley, 1833, To Shakespeare. 



The piece which he ^ composed upon what he called 
"the old English model," lay by him some thirty years 
and was not published till towards the close of his life, 
He was the only person in those days who ventured to. 
follow our old dramatists; for the revival of Shakespeare's 
plays upon the stage produced no visible effect upon con- 
temporary play-wrights. But when Garrick had made 
the name of Shakespeare popular, a race of Shakespearean 
commentators arose, who introduced a sort of taste for 
the books of Shakespeare's age; and as they worked in 
the rubbish, buried treasures, of which they were not in 
search, were brought to light, for those who could under- 
stand their value. Thus, though in their cumbrous an- 
notations, the last labourer always added more rubbish 
to the heaps which his predecessors had accumulated, 
they did good service by directing attention to our earlier 
literature. The very homage which they paid to Shake- 
speare tended to impress the multitude with an opinion of 
the paramount importance of his works, and a belief in 

1 Mason. 



3IO WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

excellencies of which they could have no perception. 
They who had any books for show considered Shake- 
speare, from this time, as a necessary part of the furniture 
of their shelves. Even the Jubilee, and its after repre- 
sentation at the theatres, contributed to confirm this use- 
ful persuasion. Thousands who had not seen one of his 
plays, nor read a line of them, heard of Shakespeare, and 
understood that his name was one of those of which it 
became Englishmen to be proud. — Southey, Robert, 
1835, Li\e 0] Cowper, vol. i, p. 338. 



But the high spirit that sleepeth here below, 
More than all beautiful and stately things, 
Glory to God, the mighty Maker, brings; 
To whom alone 'twas given the bounds to know 
Of human action, and the secret springs 
Whence the deep streams of joy and sorrow flow. 

— Alford, Henry, 1837, Stratjord-upon-Avon. 



Shakspere was, and is, beyond all comparison, the 
greatest Poet that the world has ever seen. He is greatest 
in general power, and greatest in style, which is a symbol 
or evidence of power. ... He was not a mere poet in 
the vulgar sense of the term. ... On the contrary, he 
was a man eminently acute, logical, philosophical. His 
reasoning faculty was on a par with his imagination, and 
pervaded all his works as completely. . . . We hold him 
to have been not one, but legion; and we think that in 
all the cases where critics have attempted to distinguish 
him by any one particular excellence of intellect, they 
have failed. . . . His great merit, as it appears to us, 
is that he had no peculiar, no prominent merit: his mind 



GENERAL. 3 1 1 

was so well constituted, so justly and admirably balanced, 
that it had nothing in excess. — Procter, Bryan Waller, 
1838, ed. Works of Ben Jons on, Preface. 



Even as Jesus Christ impressed this son of Hamonia, 
so am I impressed by William Shakespeare. I grow des- 
perate when I reflect that after all he is an Englishman, 
belonging to that most odious nation which God in his 
anger created. — Heine, Heinrich, 1838-95, Notes on 
Shakespeare Heroines, tr. Benecke, p. 9. 



Shakspeare's learning, whatever it was, gave him hints 
as to sources from which classical information was to be 
drawn. The age abounded in classical translations; it 
also teemed with public pageants, and Allegory itself 
might be said to have walked the streets. He may have 
laughed at the absurdity of many of those pageants, but 
still they would refresh his fancy. Whether he read as- 
siduously or carelessly, it should be remembered that 
reading was to him not of the vulgar benefit that it is to 
ordinary minds. Was there a spark of sense or sensi- 
bility in any author, on whose works he glanced, that 
spark assimilated to his soul, and it belonged to it as 
rightfully as the light of heaven to the eye of the eagle. 
— Campbell, Thomas, 1838, ed. Shakspeare's Plays, 
Moxon ed., Life. 

This poet, so often sneered at as a frantic and barbar- 
ous writer is, above all, remarkable for a judgment so 
high, so firm, so uncompromising, that one is almost 
tempted to impeach his coldness, and to find in this 
impassible observer something that may be almost called 
cruel towards the human race. In the historical pieces 



312 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

of Shakspere, the picturesque, rapid, and vehement genius 
which has produced them seems to bow before the su- 
perior law of a judgment almost ironical in its clear- 
sightedness. Sensibility to impressions, the ardent force 
of imagination, the eloquence of passion — these brilliant 
gifts of nature, which would seem destined to draw a 
poet beyond all limits, are subordinated in this extraor- 
dinary intelligence to a calm and almost deriding saga- 
city, which pardons nothing and forgets nothing. Thus, 
the dramas of which we speak are painful as real history. 
/Eschylus exhibits to us Fate hovering over the world; 
Calderon opens to us heaven and hell as the last words 
of the enigma of life; Voltaire renders his drama an in- 
strument for asserting his own peculiar doctrines; — but 
Shakspere seeks his Fate in the hearts of men, and when 
he makes us see them so capricious, so bewildered, so 
irresolute, he teaches us to contemplate, without surprise 
the untoward events and sudden changes of fortune. In 
the purely poetical dramas to which this great poet has 
given so much verisimilitude, we console ourselves in be- 
lieving that the evils which he paints are imaginary, and 
that their truth is but general. But the dramatic chron- 
icles which Shakspere has sketched are altogether real. 
— Chasles, Philarete, 1838, Dictionnaire de la Con- 
versation et de la Lecture, vol. xlx. 



The protagonist on the great arena of modern poetry, 
and the glory of the human intellect. . . . After this re- 
view of Shakspeare's life, it becomes our duty to take a 
summary survey of his works, of his intellectual powers, 
and of his station in literature, — a station which is now 
irrevocably settled, not so much (which happens in other 
cases) by a vast overbalance of favourable suffrages, as 



GENERAL. 313 

by acclamation; not so much by the voices of those who 
admire him up to the verge of idolatry, as by the acts of 
those who everywhere seek for his works among the 
primal necessities of life, demand them, and crave them 
as they do their daily bread; not so much by eulogy 
openly proclaiming itself, as by the silent homage recorded 
in the endless multiplication of what he has bequeathed 
us; not so much by his own compatriots, who, with re- 
gard to almost every other author, compose the total 
amount of his effective audience, as by the unanimous 
''All hail!" of intellectual Christendom; finally, not by 
the hasty partisanship of his own generation, nor by the 
biassed judgment of an age trained in the same modes of 
feeling and of thinking with himself, but by the solemn 
award of generation succeeding to generation, of one age 
correcting the obliquities or peculiarities of another; by 
the verdict of two hundred and thirty years, which have 
now elapsed since the very latest of his creations, or of 
two hundred and forty-seven years if we date from the 
earliest; a verdict which has been continually revived 
and reopened, probed, searched, vexed, by criticism in 
every spirit, from the most genial and intelligent, down 
to the most malignant and scurrilously hostile which 
feeble heads and great ignorance could suggest when co- 
operating with impure hearts and narrow sensibilities; a 
verdict, in short, sustained and countersigned by a longer 
series of writers, many of them eminent for wit or learn- 
ing, than were ever before congregated upon any inquest 
relating to any author, be he who he might, ancient or 
modern. Pagan or Christian. — De Quincey, Thomas, 
1838-63, Shakspeare, Works, ed. Masson, vol. iv, pp. 
17, 69. 



314 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

Amid the sights and tales of common things, 

Leaf, flower, and bird, and wars, and deaths of kings — 

Of shore and sea, and Nature's daily round, 

Of life that tills, and tombs that load the ground, 

His visions mingle, swell, command, pace by. 

And haunt with living presence, heart and eye. 

And tones from him by other bosoms caught 

Awaken flush and stir of mounting thought; 

And the long sigh, and deep, impassioned thrill 

Rouse custom's trance, and spur the faltering will. 

Above the goodly land, more his than ours, 

He sits supreme, enthroned in skyey towers, 

And sees the heroic brood of his creation 

Teach larger life to his ennobled nation. 

— Sterling, John, 1839, Shakespeare. 



Here, I say, is an English King, whom no time or 
chance. Parliament or combination of Parliaments, can 
dethrone! This King Shakespeare, does not he shine, in 
crowned sovereignty, over us all, as the noblest, gentlest, 
yet strongest of rallying signs; indestructible; really more 
valuable in that point of view than any other means or 
appliance whatsoever? We can fancy him as radiant 
aloft over all the Nations of Englishmen a thousand years 
hence. From Paramatta, from New York, wheresoever, 
under what sort of Parish-Constable soever, English men 
and women are, they will say to one another: *'Yes, this 
Shakespeare is ours; we produced him, we speak and 
think by him; we are of one blood and kind with him." 
— Carlyle, Thomas, 1840, The Hero as Poet, Heroes 
and Hero-Worship. 

It is hard to speak of Shakespeare; these measures of 
the statures of common poets fall from our hands when 



GENERAL, 3 I 5 

we seek to measure him: it is harder to praise him. Like 
the tall plane-tree which Xerxes found standing in the 
midst of an open country, and honoured inappropriately 
with his "barbaric pomp," with bracelets and chains and 
rings suspended on its branches, so has it been with 
Shakespeare. A thousand critics have commended him 
with praises as unsuitable as a gold ring to a plane-tree. 
A thousand hearts have gone out to him, carrying neck- 
laces. — Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1842-63, The 
Book of the Poets, p. 151. 



If it be said that Shakspere wrote perfect historical 
plays on subjects belonging to the preceding centuries, I 
answer, that they are perfect plays just because there is 
no care about centuries in them, but a life which all men 
recognise for the human life of all time; and this it is, 
not because Shakspere sought to give universal truth, 
but because, painting honestly and completely from the 
men about him, he painted that human nature which is, 
indeed, constant enough, — a rogue in the fifteenth cen- 
tury being, at heart, what a rogue is in the nineteenth and 
was in the twelfth; and an honest or knightly man being, 
in like manner, very similar to other such at any other 
time. And the work of these great idealists is, therefore, 
always universal; not because it is not portrait, but be- 
cause it is complete portrait down to the heart, which is 
the same in all ages: and the work of the mean idealists 
is not universal, not because it is portrait, but because it 
is half portrait, — of the outside, the manners and the 
dress, not of the heart. Thus Tintoret and Shakspere 
paint, both of them, simply Venetian and English nature 
as they saw it in their time, down to the root; and it does 
for all time; but as for any care to cast themselves into 



3l6 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the particular ways and tones of thought, or custom, of 
past time in their historical work, you will find it in 
neither of them, nor in any other perfectly great man that 
I know of. — RusKiN, John, 1843-60, Modern Fainter s^ 
pt. iv, ch. vii. 

It is a relief to read some true book, wherein all are 
equally dead, — equally alive. I think the best parts of 
Shakespeare would only be enhanced by the most thrill- 
ing and affecting events. I have found it so. And so 
much the more, as they are not intended for consolation. 
— Thoreau, Henry David, 1843, Familiar Letters, ed. 
Sanborn, p. 50. 

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb 
The Clowns o' the world: O eyes sublime 
With tears and laughter for all time! 
— Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, A Vis- 
ion of Foets. 



Others abide our question. Thou art free. 
We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, 
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, 
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, 
Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, 
Spares but the cloudy border of his base 
To the foil'd searching of mortality; 
And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, 
Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure, 
Didst tread on earth unguess'd at. — Better so! 
All pains the immortal spirit must endure, 
All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow, 
Find their sole speech in that victorious brow. 
— Arnold, Matthew, 1848, Shakespeare. 



GENERAL. 317 

Our poet's mask was impenetrable. You cannot see 
the mountain near. It took a century to make it sus- 
pected; and not until two centuries had passed, after his 
death, did any criticism which we think adequate begin 
to appear. It was not possible to write the history of 
Shakspeare till now; for he is the father of German 
literature: it was with the introduction of Shakspeare 
into German, by Lessing, and the translation of his works 
by Wieland and Schlegel, that the rapid burst of Ger- 
man literature was most intimately connected. It was 
not until the nineteenth century, whose speculative genius 
is a sort of living Hamlet, that the tragedy of Hamlet 
could find such wondering readers. Now, literature, phi- 
losophy and thought, are Shakspearized. His mind is the 
horizon beyond which, at present, we do not see. Our 
ears are educated to music by his rhythm. . . . Shak- 
speare is the only biographer of Shakspeare; and even he 
can tell nothing, except to the Shakspeare in us, that is, 
to our most apprehensive and sympathetic hour. . . . 
He was a full man, who liked to talk; a brain exhaling 
thoughts and images, which, seeking vent, found the 
drama next at hand. Had he been less, we should have 
had to consider how well he filled his place, how good a 
dramatist he was, — and he is the best in the world. . . . 
He wrote the airs for all our modern music: he wrote the 
text of modern life; the text of manners: he drew the 
man of England and Europe; the father of the man in 
America; he drew the man, and described the day, and 
what is done in it: he read the hearts of men and women, 
their probity, and their second thought and wiles; the 
wiles of innocence, and the transitions by which virtues 
and vices slide into their contraries: he could divide the 
mother's part from the father's part in the face of the 



3l8 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

child, or draw the fine demarcations of freedom and of 
fate: he knew the laws of repression which make the 
police of nature: and all the sweets and all the terrors of 
human lot lay in his mind as truly but as softly as the 
landscape lies on the eye. And the importance of this 
wisdom of life sinks the form, as of Drama or Epic, out 
of notice. 'Tis like making a question concerning the 
paper on which a king's message is written. No recipe 
can be given for the making of a Shakspeare; but the 
possibility of the translation of things into song is 
demonstrated. — Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 1850-76, 
Shakspeare; or, the Poet; Representative Men, WorkSf 
Riverside ed., vol. iv, pp. 194, 198, 200, 201, 204. 



I have read and studied our great dramatist for nearly 
half a century; and if I could read and study him for 
half a century more, I should yet be far from arriving at 
an accurate knowledge of his works, or an adequate ap- 
preciation of his worth. He is an author whom no man 
can read enough, nor study enough. — Collier, John 
Payne, 1853, Notes and Emendations to the Text of 
Shakespeare's Plays, Introduction. 



. . . like Shakespeare . . . 
To reach the popular heart through open ways; 
To speak for all men; to be wise and true, 
Bright as the noon-time, clear as morning dew, 
And wholesome in the spirit and the form. 

— Mackay, Charles, 1855, Mist. 



. . . wide as Shakespeare's soul, . . . 
Dobell, Sydney, 1855, Sonnets 0} the War, 



GENERAL, 319 

I doubt whether Shakspeare ever had any thought at 
all of making his personages speak characteristically. In 
most instances, I conceive, — probably in all, — he drew 
characters correctly because he could not avoid it; and 
would never have attained, in that department, such ex- 
cellence as he has, if he had made any studied efforts for 
it. And the same, probably, may be said of Homer, and 
of those other writers who have excelled the most in de- 
lineating characters. Shakspeare's peculiar genius con- 
sisted chiefly, T conceive, in his forming the same distinct 
and consistent idea of an imaginary person that an or- 
dinary man forms of a real and well-known individual. 
We usually conjecture pretty accurately, concerning a 
very intimate acquaintance, how he would speak or act 
on any supposed occasion; if any one should report to us 
his having done or said something quite out of character, 
we should at once be struck with the inconsistency; and 
we often represent to ourselves, and describe to others, 
without any conscious effort, not only the substance of 
what he would have been likely to say, but even his 
characteristic phrases and looks. Shakspeare could no 
more have endured an expression from the lips of Mac- 
beth inconsistent with the character originally conceived, 
than an ordinary man could contribute to his most re- 
spectable acquaintance the behaviour of a ruffian, or to a 
human being the voice of a bird, or to a European the 
features and hue of a negro. Merely from the vividness 
of the original conception, characteristic conduct and 
language spontaneously suggested themselves to the great 
dramatist's pen. He called his personages into being, 
and left them, as it were, to speak and act for themselves. 
. . . Slender, and Shallow, and Aguecheek, as Shak- 
speare has painted them, though equally fools, resemble 



320 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

one another no more than Richard, and Macbeth, and Julius 
Caesar. — Whately, Richard, 1856, Bacon's Essays. 

We have the country justice of the time (Shallow); the 
small country gentlemen (Ford and Page); the young 
country gull (Aguecheek); the fool (Touchstone); the 
town gallant (Mercutio) ; the court gallant (Benedict); the 
waiting- woman (Maria); the steward (Malvolio); the 
serving-man (Peter); the page (Robin); the housekeeper 
(Mrs. Quickly); the statesman (Polonius); the fop (Os- 
rick); the tinker (Sly); the pedlar (Autolycus); the weaver 
(Bottom); the merchant (Antonio); the village pedant 
(Holofernes); the malcontent (Jacques); the usurer (Shy- 
lock); the tavern wit (FalstafT); the disbanded soldier 
(Parolles); the town doctor (Caius); the hedge priest (Sir 
Oliver); the landlord (of the Garter); the drawer (Francis); 
besides 'prentices, cooks, musicians, nurses, thieves, car- 
riers, — all of the age in which he lived. He quotes the 
ballads of his day: "Jephtha and his Daughter;" "The 
King and the Beggar;" "The Humour of Forty Fancies;" 
"Fire, fire. Jack boy, ho boy." His domestic scenery is 
that of his own house: the rushes are strewed, the jacks 
and Jills cleaned, the carpets laid, and the serving-men in 
new fustian and white stockings, — their blue coats 
brushed, and their hair sleek combed: he has ivory cof- 
fers with Turkey cushions bossed with pearl, arras of 
purple, and valance of Venice. — Thornbury, George 
Walter, 1856, Shakspere's England j vol. 11, p. 2,^. 



. . . th' accepted King 
Of all earthly minstrelling 
Crowned with homely Avon lilies, 
As his regal way and will is. 
— Arnold, Sir Edwin, 1856, Alia Mano Delia 
Mia Donna. 



GENERAL. 32 1 

The influence of Shakespeare on the French stage 
touches at a multitude of points; it appears, not in a 
simple sketch of the authors who have imitated or trans- 
lated Shakespeare, not in a dry list of names, but by an 
accurate analysis of it; that is to say, by a philosophic 
history of whatsoever has helped to diffuse it, or of what- 
soever has been inspired by it; a vast subject, doubtless, 
since the example of Shakespeare has prompted, whether 
directly or indirectly, almost all the theories and almost 
all the works of the modern drama. The analysis, there- 
fore, of the influence of Shakespeare comprises the his- 
tory both of the form and of the theory of the Drama, and, 
up to a certain point, the history of dramatic criticism in 
France during nearly two centuries; two centuries fruitful, 
indeed, in attempts and results, and the subject opens 
and spreads the farther we advance. . . The theatre 
of Shakespeare is the most perfect that the world has yet 
seen. It will continue to be a study for dramatic authors 
of all ages, and all will find in it the very nutriment for 
an artistic education — an education which will be de- 
veloped unconsciously, so to speak, by the study of all 
the emotions that can stir the heart, of all the loftiest 
thoughts that can elevate the soul. The influence of 
Shakespeare upon the French stage has been profoundly 
salutary. — Lacroix, Albert, 1856, Historie de V Influ- 
ence de Shakespeare sur le Theatre Frangais, p. 338. 



Only Shakespeare wrote comedy and tragedy with 
truly ideal elevation and breadth. Only Shakespeare had 
that true sense of humor which, like the universal solvent 
sought by the alchemists, so fuses together all the ele- 
ments of a character, (as in Falstaff,) that any question 
of good or evil, of dignified or ridiculous, is silenced by 



322 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

the apprehension of its thorough humanity. Rabelais 
shows gleams of it in Panurge; but, in our opinion, no 
man ever possessed it in an equal degree with Shake- 
speare, except Cervantes; no man has since shown any- 
thing like an approach to it, (for Moliere's quality was 
comic power rather than humor,) except Sterne, Fielding, 
and perhaps Richter. Only Shakespeare was endowed 
with that healthy equilibrium of nature whose point of 
rest was midway between the imagination and the under- 
standing, — that perfectly unruffled brain which reflected 
all objects with almost inhuman impartiality, — that out- 
look whose range was ecliptical, dominating all zones of 
human thought and action, — that power of veri-similar 
conception which could take away Richard III. from 
History, and Ulysses from Homer, — and that creative 
faculty whose equal touch is alike vivifying in Shallow 
and in Lear. He alone never seeks in abnormal and 
monstrous characters to evade the risks and responsibili- 
ties of absolute truthfulness, not to stimulate a jaded 
imagination by Caligulan horrors of plot. — Lowell, 
James Russell, 1858-64-90, Library of Old Authors, 
Prose Works, Riverside ed., p. 278. 



Shakespeare, indeed, in his transcendently beautiful em- 
bodiments of feminine excellence, the most exquisite crea- 
tions in literature, passed into a region of sentiment and 
thought, of ideals and of ideas, altogether higher and 
more supernatural than that region in which he shaped 
his delicate Ariels and his fairy Titanias. The question 
has been raised whether sex extends to soul. However 
this may be decided, here is a soul, with its records in 
literature, who is at once the manliest of men, and the 
most womanly of women; who can not only recognize 



GENERAL. 323 

the feminine element in existing individuals, but discern 
the idea, the pattern, the radiant genius, of womanhood 
itself, as it hovers unseen by other eyes, over the living 
representatives of the sex. Literature boasts many emi- 
nent female poets and novelists; but not one has ever 
approached Shakespeare in the purity, the sweetness, the 
refinement, the elevation, of his perceptions of feminine 
character, — much less approached him in the power of 
embodying these perceptions in persons. These charac- 
ters are so thoroughly domesticated on the earth, that we 
are tempted to forget the heaven of invention from which 
he brought them. The most beautiful of spirits, they 
are the most tender of daughters, lovers, and wives. They 
are "airy shapes," but they "syllable men's names." 
Rosalind, Juliet, Ophelia, Viola, Perdita, Miranda, Des- 
demona, Hermione, Portia, Isabella, Imogen, Cordelia, 
— if their names do not call up their natures, the most 
elaborate analysis of criticism will be of no avail. — Whip- 
ple, Edwin P., 1859-68, The Literature of the Age of 
Elizabeth, p. 80. 

Faith thus dislodged from ancient schools and creeds, 
Question to question, doubt to doubt succeeds — 
Clouds gathering flame for thunders soon to be, 
And glass'd on Shakespeare as upon a sea. 
Each guess of others into worlds unknown 
Shakespeare revolves, but guards conceal'd his own — 
As in the Infinite hangs poised his thought, 
Surveying all things, and asserting nought. 
— Lytton, Edward, Lord, i860, St. Stephen^s. 



Of the several works of Shakespere — plays and poems 
■ there were prior to 16 16 in circulation, in all, no 



324 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

fewer than between sixty and sixty-five editions. Some 
of these reached as many as six editions within a period 
of not more than twenty-one years. This argues of it- 
self an extensive popularity, especially when we reflect on 
the small number of the reading public of his day. If 
we take the lowest estimate of the editions (sixty), and 
suppose each issue to have consisted of the lowest possible 
paying number (300 say), we should have in circulation 
no fewer than 18,000 copies of the productions of the great 
dramatist in print during his lifetime. — Neil, Samuel, 
1 86 1, Shakes per e^ A Critical Biography, p. 59. 



He stands, in his relations to English literature, in the 
same position that the great Greek sculptors stood with 
respect to ancient art, embodying conceptions of human- 
ity in its various attributes with indescribable skill, and 
with an exquisite agreement to nature. — Draper, John 
William, 1861-76, History of the Intellectual Develop- 
ment of Europe, vol. 11, p. 249. 



Nor even in his plays is Shakspeare merely a drama- 
tist. Apart altogether from his dramatic power he is the 
greatest poet that ever lived. His sympathy is the most 
universal, his imagination the most plastic, his diction 
the most expressive, ever given to any writer. His 
poetry has in itself^ the power and varied excellences of 
all other poetry. While in grandeur, and beauty, and 
passion, and sweetest music, and all the other higher 
gifts of song he may be ranked with the greatest, — with 
Spenser, and Chaucer, and Milton, and Dante, and 
Homer, — he is at the same time more nervous than 
Dryden, and more sententious than Pope, and more 
sparkHng and of more abounding conceit, when he 



GENERAL. 325 

chooses, than Donne, or Cowley, or Butler. In whose 
handling was language ever such a jflame of fire as it is 
in his? His wonderful potency in the use of this instru- 
ment would alone set him above all other writers. — 
Craik, George L., 1861, A Compendious History of 
English Literature and of the English Language^ vol. i, 
P- 591- 

Although the dialect of Shakespeare does not exhibit 
the same relative superiority as that of Chaucer over all 
older and contemporaneous literature, its absolute su- 
periority is, nevertheless, unquestionable. I have before 
had occasion to remark that the greatest authors very 
often confine themselves to a restricted vocabulary, and 
that the power of their diction lies, not in the multitude 
of words, but in skilful combination and adaptation of a 
few. This is strikingly verified by an examination of the 
stock of words employed by Shakespeare. He introduces, 
indeed, terms borrowed from every art and every science, 
from all theoretical knowledge and all human experi- 
ence; but his entire vocabulary little exceeds fifteen thou- 
sand words, and of these a large number, chiefly of Latin 
origin, occur but once or at most twice in his pages. 
The affluence of his speech arises from variety of com- 
bination, not from numerical abundance. And yet the 
authorized vocabulary of Shakespeare's time probably em- 
braced twice or thrice the number of words which he 
found necessary for his purposes; for though there were 
at that time no dictionaries which exhibit a great stock 
of words, yet in perusing Hooker, the old translators, and 
the early voyagers and travellers, we find a verbal wealth, 
a copiousness of diction, which forms a singular contrast 
with the philological economy of the great dramatist. In 



326 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

his theory of dramatic construction, Shakespeare owes 
little — in his conception of character, nothing — to ear- 
lier or contemporary artists; but in his diction, every- 
thing except felicity of selection and combination. The 
existence of the whole copious English vocabulary was 
necessary, in order that his marvellous gift of selection 
might have room for its exercise. — Marsh, George P., 
1862, Origin and History of the English Language, etc., 
P- 569- 

In Shakespeare we admire the mighty power with 
which, after a brief introduction, he throws excitement 
in the way of his heroes and impels them swiftly in rapid 
upward stages to a momentous height. His method of 
leading the action and the characters beyond the climax, 
in the first half of the play, may also serve as a model 
to us. And in the second half, the catastrophe itself is 
planned with the sureness and scope of genius, with no 
attempt at overwhelming effect, without apparent effort, 
with concise execution, a consequence of the play, fol- 
lowing as a matter of course. But the great poet does 
not always have success with the forces of the falling 
action, between climax and catastrophe, the part which 
fills about the fourth act of our plays. In this important 
place, he seems too much restrained by the customs of 
his stage. In many of the greatest dramas of his artistic 
time, the action is divided up, in this part, into several 
little scenes, which have an episodical character and are 
inserted only to make the connection clear. The inner 
conditions of the hero are concealed, the heightening of 
effects and the concentration so necessary here fails. It 
is so in ''Hamlet," in ''King Lear," in "Macbeth," 
somewhat so in "Antony and Cleopatra." Even in "Ju- 



GENERAL. 



327 



lius Caesar," the return action contains, indeed, that 
splendid quarrel scene and the reconciliation between 
Brutus and Cassius, and the appearance of the ghost; 
but what follows is again much divided, fragmentary. In 
''Richard III.," the falling action is indeed drawn to- 
gether into several great impulses; but yet these do not 
in a sufficient degree correspond in stage effect to the 
immense power of the first part. — Freytag, Gustav, 
1863-94, Technique of the Drama, tr. MacEwan, p. 185. 



We are more intimate with Shakespeare's men and 
women than we are with our contemporaries, and they 
are, on the whole, better company. They are more 
beautiful in form and feature, and they express them- 
selves in a way that the most gifted strive after in vain. 
What if Shakespeare's people could walk out of the 
play-books and settle down upon some spot of earth and 
conduct life there! There would be found humanity's 
whitest wheat, the world's unalloyed gold. The very 
winds could not visit the place roughly. No king's court 
could present you such an array. Where else could we 
find a philosopher like Hamlet? a friend like Antonio? 
a witty fellow'like Mercutio? where else Imogen's piquant 
face ? Portia's gravity and womanly sweetness ? Rosalind's 
true heart and silvery laughter? Cordelia's beauty of holi- 
ness? These would form the centre of the court, but 
the purlieus, how many-coloured! Malvolio would walk 
mincingly in the sunshine there; Autolycus would filch 
purses. Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby Belch 
would be eternal boon companions. And as Falstaff sets 
out homeward from the tavern, the portly knight leading 
the revellers like a three-decker a line of frigates, they 
are encountered by Dogberry, who summons them to 



328 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

stand and answer to the watch as they are honest men. 
— Smith, Alexander, 1863, Dreamthorp, p. 283. 



Not only is Shakespeare the closest of all reasoners, but 
the web of his argument is always of a golden tissue. . . . 
The very sweepings of his genius are virgin gold. — 
Clarke, Charles Cowden, 1863, Shakespeare-Charac- 
ters, pp. 23, 119. 

Given a shadow, Shakspere had the power to place 
himself so, that that shadow became his own — was the 
correct representation as shadow, of his form coming 
between it and the sunlight. And this is the highest 
dramatic gift that a man can possess. But we feel at 
the same time, that this is, in the main, not so much art 
as inspiration. — Macdonald, George, 1863, The Ima- 
gination and Other Essays, p. 161. 



This player was a prophet from on high, 
Thine own elected. Statesman, poet, sage, 

For him thy sovereign pleasure passed them by; 
Sidney's fair youth, and Raleigh's ripened age, 

Spenser's chaste soul, and his imperial mind 
Who taught and shamed mankind. 

— Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1864, Shakespeare 

Tercentennial Celebration. 



If I preach about Shakspere, and the method of treat- 
ment should be somewhat unusual in your ear, I hope 
you will remember that this is the very thing which I 
am set to do. Why, then, I would ask, have we just 
cause to celebrate with a jubilee the fact that three hun- 
dred years ago Shakspere was born; or, in other words, 



GENERAL. 329 

why do we thank God that such a man has been among 
us? What is there we have read in his writings to render 
them an enduring benefit to us, — a possession forever, 
— such as we feel makes us richer, wiser, and, using it 
aright, better than we should have been without them? 
It is this question which we propose to discuss. Those 
who mould a nation's life should be men acquainted with 
God's scheme of the universe, cheerfully working in their 
own appointed sphere the work which has been assigned 
them, accepting God's world because it is His, with all 
its strange riddles and perplexities, with all the burdens 
which it lays upon each one of us: — not fiercely dashing 
and shaking themselves like imprisoned birds against the 
bars of their prison house, or moodily nourishing in their 
own hearts, and in the hearts of others, thoughts of dis- 
content, revolt, and despair. Such a poet, I am bold to 
affirm, we possessed in Shakspere. — Trench, Richard 
Chenevix, 1864, Sermon^ Tercentenary of Shakspere, 
Stratford-upon-Avon, April 23. 



In order to deal fairly with this former part of our in- 
vestigation, it is necessary to remark, in the first instance, 
that, while the whole contents and general language of the 
Bible would be known to our poet from translations pre- 
viously in use, in regard to particular words and modes of 
speech, it is probable that our translators of 161 1 owed to 
Shakspeare as much as, or rather far more than, he 
owed to them. . . . Take the entire range of English 
Literature; put together our best authors, who have writ- 
ten upon subjects not professedly religious or theological, 
and we shall not find, I believe, in them all united, so 
much evidence of the Bible having been read and used, 
as we have found in Shakspeare alone. This is a phe- 



330 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

nomenon which admits of being looked at from several 
points of view; but I shall be content to regard it solely 
in connection with the undoubted fact, that of all our 
authors, Shakspeare is also, by general confession, the 
greatest and the best. — Wordsworth, Charles, 1864- 
80, Shakspeare^s Knowledge and Use of the Bible, pp. 
9, 345- 

Homer, Job, ^Eschylus, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Lucretius, 
Juvenal, St. John, St. Paul, Tacitus, Dante, Rabelais, 
Cervantes, Shakespeare. That is the avenue of the im- 
moveable giants of the human mind. The men of 
genius are a dynasty. Indeed there is no other. They 
wear all the crowns, even that of thorns. Each of them 
represents the sum total of absolute that man can realize. 
We repeat it, to choose between these men, to prefer one 
to the other, to mark with the finger the first among these 
first, it cannot be. All are the Mind. Perhaps, in an 
extreme case — and yet every objection would be legiti- 
mate — you might mark out as the highest summit among 
those summits. Homer, ^schylus. Job, Isaiah, Dante, 
and Shakespeare. It is understood that we speak here 
only in an Art point of view, and in Art, in the literary 
point of view. Two men in this group, ^schylus and 
Shakespeare, represent specially the drama. . . . His 
poetry has the sharp perfume of honey made by the 
vagabond bee without a hive. Here prose, there verse; 
all forms, being but receptacles for the idea, suit him. 
This poetry weeps and laughs. The English tongue, a 
language little formed, now assists, now harms him, but 
everywhere the deep mind gushes forth translucent. 
Shakespeare's drama proceeds with a kind of distracted 
rhythm; it is so vast that it staggers; it has and gives the 



GENERAL. 33 1 

vertigo; but nothing is so solid as this excited grandeur. 
Shakespeare, shuddering, has in himself the winds, the 
spirits, the philters, the vibrations, the fluctuations of 
transient breezes, the obscure penetration of efiluvia, the 
great unknown sap. Thence his agitation, in the depth 
of which is repose. It is agitation in which Goethe is 
wanting, wrongly praised for his impassiveness, which is 
inferiority. This agitation, all minds of the first order 
have it. It is in Job, in ^schylus, in Alighieri. This 
agitation is humanity. — Hugo, Victor, 1864, William 
Shakespeare, tr. Baillot, pp. 66, 185. 



He combines in one individual, and harmonizes, qual- 
ities apparently incongruous, his genius revealing to him 
their affinities. — White, Richard Grant, 1865, ed., 
The Works of William Shakespeare, an Essay on Shake- 
speare's Genius, vol. i, p. ccxxxii. 



Morning and night meet, as in Nature, in the poet's 
writings — the comic and the tragic. In the full flush 
and luxuriance of his powers he rises upon us bright, 
lively, and jocund as the dawn; we know not where he 
will lead us in the abundance of his poetical caprice, 
what stores of mirth and wanton wiles, what brilliant 
and ever-changing hues will sparkle, dazzle, and allure 
us in his ambrosial course. But that bright morning — 
unlike the morning of many of the poet's contemporaries 
— goes down in a solemn and glorious sunset, canopied 
with clouds of gold and purple. — Brewer, John Sher- 
REN, 1871-81, English Studies, ed. Wace, p. 249. 



His was one of those delicate souls which, like a per- 
fect instrument of music, vibrate of themselves at the 



332 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

slightest touch. ... He had a sympathetic genius; I 
mean that naturally he knew how to forget himself and 
become transfused into all the objects which he con- 
ceived. . . . Shakspeare imagines with copiousness and 
excess; he spreads metaphors profusely over all he writes; 
every instant abstract ideas are changed into images; it 
is a series of paintings which is unfolded in his mind. 
He does not seek them, they come of themselves; they 
crowd within him, covering his arguments; they dim with 
their brightness the pure light of logic. He does not la- 
bour to explain or prove; picture on picture, image on 
image, he is forever copying the strange and splendid 
visions which are engendered one within another, and 
are heaped up within him. . . . Shakspeare never sees 
things tranquilly. All the powers of his mind are con- 
centrated in the present image or idea. He is buried 
and absorbed in it. With such a genius, we are on the 
brink of an abyss; the eddying water dashes in headlong, 
devouring whatever objects it meets, bringing them to 
light again, if at all, transformed and mutilated. We 
pause stupefied before these convulsive metaphors, which 
might have been written by a fevered hand in a night's 
delirium, which gather a pageful of ideas and pictures in 
half a sentence, which scorch the eyes they would en- 
lighten. . . . The most immoderate of all violators of 
language, the most marvellous of all creators of souls, 
the farthest removed from regular logic and classical 
reason, the one most capable of exciting in us a world of 
forms, and of placing living beings before us. — Taine, 
H. A., 1871, History 0} English Literature, tr. Van Laun, 
vol. I, bk. ii, ch. iv, pp. 303, 307, 309, 310. 



J An imagination so creative, a reason so vigorous, a 
wisdom so clear and comprehensive, taking views of life 



GENERAL. 333 

and character and duty so broad and just and true, a 
spirit so fiery and at the same time so gentle, such acute- 
ness of observation and such power of presenting to other 
minds what is observed — such a combination of qualities 
seems to afford us, as we contemplate it, a glimpse of 
what, in certain respects, the immortal part of man shall 
be, when every cause that dims its vision or weakens its 
energy or fetters its activity or checks its expansion shall 
be wholly done away, and that subtler essence shall be 
left to the full and free exercise of the powers with which 
God endowed it. — Bryant, William Cullen, 1872, 
Shakspeare, Orations and Addresses, p. 372. 



Here, in his right, he stands! 
No breadth of earth-di\dding seas can bar 
The breeze of morning, or the morning star, 

From visiting our lands: 
His vat, the breeze, his wdsdom, as the star, 
Shone where our earliest Hfe was set, and blew 

To freshen hope and plan 

In brains American, — 
To urge, resist, encourage, and subdue! 
He came, a household ghost we could not ban: 
He sat, on winter nights, by cabin fires; 
His summer fairies Hnked their hands 

Along our yellow sands; 
He preached within the shadow of our spires; 
And when the certain Fate drew nigh, to cleave 
The birth-cord, and a separate being leave. 
He, in our ranks of patient-hearted men, 

Wrought with the boimdless forces of his fame, 

Victorious, and became 
The Master of our thought, the land's first Citizen! 

— Taylor, Bayard, 1872, Shakespeare's Statue, 
Central Park, New York, May 23. 



334 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

There is no room for comparison between him and any 
other man in Europe, from Chaucer before to Milton after, 
nor then, again (we hold,) till we reach Sterne and three 
or four writers of this century. — Palgrave, Francis 
Turner, 1872, Thomas Watson The Poet, North Amer- 
ican Review, vol 114, p. 89. 



A vision as of crowded city streets, 

With human life in endless overflow; 

Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow 

To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats, 

Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets; 

TolUng of bells in turrets, and below 

Voices of children, and bright flowers that throw 

O'er garden- walls their intermingled sweets! 

This vision comes to me when I unfold 

The volume of the Poet paramount, 

Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone; — 

Into his hands they put the lyre of gold, 

And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount, 

Placed him as Musagetes on their throne. 

— Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 1873, 
Book of Sonnets. 



By common consent his is one of the greatest names in 
literature. We recognize the following points in his in- 
tellectual supremacy: — i. His profound philosophical in- 
sight; his knowledge of human nature enabling him to 
seize unerringly upon the governing principle or master 
passion of a man or class of men. 2. — The creativeness 
of his imagination; exemplified in the multitude of strik- 
ing characters, embodiments of the laws his intuition has 
detected. He names more than a thousand, each of 
whom expresses the thought or sentiment in fitting Ian- 



GENERAL. 



335 



guage and conduct. 3. — The skillful grouping of char- 
acters, arrangement of scenes, construction and develop- 
ment of plots. 4. — His style; that marvellous copious- 
ness and felicity conjoined, whereby is brought down to 
our midst the Shakespearian world, as perceived by an 
eye at once telescopic and microscopic, by an ear keenly 
sensitive to all harmonies and discords, by a mind at once 
the most piercing and the most comprehensive, by a 
heart tenderer than a mother's, yet stouter than that of 
Leonidas. 5. — His wit and humor. Falstaff is the most 
comic character in literature; yet he is but one of a multi- 
tude. 6. — His power of portraying deep emotion. Others 
may have equalled him in single instances, but their suc- 
cesses in this particular are few to his. — Sprague, Homer 
B., 1874-8, Masterpieces in English Literature, p. 107. 



To praise Shakespeare is unnecessary, at least in coun- 
tries of Germanic language. It would be rudeness to 
suppose any cultivated man or woman to be ignorant of 
the works of the greatest poet of all times who shows the 
whole world and mankind as in a glass. . . . The high, 
lasting, and in some sense unique position Shakespeare 
occupies in the literature of the world has thus been ac- 
knowledged; but it would be wrong and foolish to exalt 
him above all other great poets; as has been done by 
some, in Germany especially. Shakespeare is indeed a 
poet ''for all time;" but every great poet is that. We 
cannot understand why he should have a superior privi- 
lege to Homer, ^schylus, Aristophanes, Dante, Cer- 
vantes, Moliere, Goethe, Byron. Shakespeare was an 
Englishman of the Elizabethan era, every inch of him, 
sharing the prejudices and superstitions of his time and 
of his countrymen. . . . We see that the true criterion 



336 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

for judging Shakespeare is his own time. Looking upon 
him in that light we shall be truly just to him. The 
form of his works, which is undoubtedly faulty at times, 
belongs to his time and to his country. The spirit of his 
poetry is and remains the precious possession of mankind, 
among whose teachers and prophets he will always oc- 
cupy the front rank. — Scherr, J., 1874, A History of 
English Literature, pp. 73, 83, 84. 



He is not certainly a religionist; he is not a moralist. 
He neither fashions precepts, nor makes it his business 
directly or indirectly to enforce them. Is he therefore 
immoral? Then is nature immoral, human history and 
the record of daily life; for it is these that Shakespeare 
reproduces. If he does not so construct his plot, so ma- 
nipulate his characters, as to give peculiar and brilliant 
light to moral issues, no more does he pervert and cover 
them up. He allows the moral forces, among other real 
natural forces, to flow on with events, to exercise their 
own share of control over them, and to come out, from 
time to time, in terrific thunder shocks of retribution. 
He merely fails, as a showman, to arrest the spectacle, 
invite attention and rehearse the unmistakable lesson. 
At bottom, Shakespeare, instead of being an immoral, is 
a moral writer; because he handles powerfully and truth- 
fully natural, real forces; those which in the world shape 
character, control its development, gather up its issues. 
. . . Shakespeare is the poet of natural religion, because 
he cannot otherwise present nature. — Bascom, John, 
1874, Philosophy of English Literature, pp. 124, 129. 



The general public were really the first to recognise 
Shakespeare: no literary potentate bailed him out of ob- 



GENERAL, 33/ 

scurity. — Minto, William, 1874-85, Characteristics 0} 
English Poets, p. 266. 

Engrossed though he is with stirring events and thrill- 
ing emotions and powerful human characters, it is won- 
derful how many are the side-glances that he and his 
characters cast at the Nature that surrounds them. And 
these glances are like everything else in him, rapid, vivid, 
and intense. . . . There is hardly one of his plays in 
which the season and the scene is not flashed upon the 
mind by a single stroke more vividly than it could be by 
the most lengthened description. — Shairp, John Camp- 
bell, 1877, On Poetic Interpretation of Nature, p. 174. 



Another of the characteristics of Shakspere is his un- 
erring common sense; his feeling of congruity, whether in 
manners or morals, in taste or in feeling. With all his 
inexhaustible wealth of imagination, and his daring use 
of it, he has always the fear of the ridiculous before his 
eyes, and never gets upon stilts. His imagery may be 
colossal, it is never disproportioned. . . . Closely con- 
nected with Shakespeare's artistic moderation and common 
sense is his moral uprightness, rectitude of judgment, and 
soundness of feeling. — Simpson, Richard, 1878, The 
School of Shakspere, vol. 11, pp. 396, 397. 



Nor is it quite sound and sober criticism to say, of 
Shakspeare: ''He was altogether, from end to end, an 
artist, and the greatest artist the modern world has 
known." Or again: ''In the unchangeableness of pure 
art-power Shakspeare stands entirely alone." There is a 
peculiarity in Mr. Stopford Brooke's use of the words 
art, artist. He means by an artist one whose aim in 



338 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

writing is not to reveal himself, but to give pleasure; he 
says most truly that Shakspeare's aim was to please, that 
Shakspeare "made men and women whose dramatic ac- 
tion on each other and towards a catastrophe was in- 
tended to please the public, not to reveal himself." This 
is indeed the true temper of the artist. But when we call 
a man emphatically artist, a great artist, we mean some- 
thing more than this temper in which he works; we mean 
by art, not merely an aim to please, but also, and more, 
a law of pure and flawless workmanship. As living al- 
ways under the sway of this law, and as, therefore, a per- 
fect artist, we do not conceive of Shakspeare. His 
workmanship is often far from being pure and flawless. 

Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons — 

There is but one name for such writing as that, if Shak- 
speare had signed it a thousand times, — it is detestable. 
And it is too frequent in Shakspeare. ... We ought 
not to speak of Shakspere as "altogether, from end to 
end, an artist;" as "standing entirely alone in the un- 
changeableness of pure art-power." He is the richest, 
the most wonderful, the most powerful, the most delight- 
ful of poets; he is not altogether, nor even eminently an 
artist. — Arnold, Matthew, 1879, A Guide to English 
Literature, Mixed Essays, pp. 193, 194. 



The universality and inexhaustible versatility of our 
own Shakespeare are unique in all literature. But the 
very richness of his qualities detracts from the symmetry 
and directness of the dramatic impression. For this rea- 
son neither is Lear, nor Othello, nor Macbeth, nor Ham- 
let (each supreme as an imaginative creation) so typically 



GENERAL. 339 

perfect a tragedy as the Agamemnon. In each of the 
four there are slight incidents which we could spare with- 
out any evident loss. — Harrison, Frederic, 1879-86, 
The Choice of Books and other Literary Pieces, p. 30. 



The drama is undoubtedly the most characteristic ex- 
pression of the Renaissance. . . . Everybody wrote a 
play, either a tragedy or a comedy: among the writers 
are many names, which singly were great enough to have 
thrown lustre over any country — Beaumont and Fletcher, 
Ford and Massinger, ''rare Ben Jonson." But they all 
pale before Shakespeare: they are so infinitely below 
him, that they hardly seem to belong to the same race. 
And yet this brilliant flower sprang into being all at once. 
There is no hidden growth long enough to account for 
such a perfect development. Like Provencal poetry in 
the eleventh, like Dante's poetry in the fourteenth cen- 
tury, it was born full grown. We have seen that Shake- 
speare drew his plots from the classic ballads and from 
old stories; but where did he learn to make so many 
characters, each one of whom would be sufficient for an 
ordinary writer, — to pierce the motives of every action, — 
to create living beings? — Poor, Laura Elizabeth, 1880, 
Sanskrit and its Kindred Literatures; Studies in Compara- 
tive Mythology, p. 426. 

The Bible apart, Shakespeare's dramas are, by general 
consent, the greatest classic and literary treasure of the 
world. His text, with all the admitted imperfections on 
its head, is nevertheless a venerable and sacred thing, and 
must nowise be touched but under a strong restraining 
sense of pious awe. Woe to the man that exercises his 
critical surgery here without a profound reverence for the 



340 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

subject! All glib ingenuity, all shifty cleverness, should 
be sternly warned ofif from meddling with the matter. — 
Hudson, Henry Norman, 1880, ed. Harvard Shake- 
speare, vol. I, Preface, p. xxi. 



Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one 

Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee. 

Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea, 
What power is in them all to praise the sun ? 
His praise is this, — he can be praised of none. 

Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he 

Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. 
He is; and, being, beholds his work well done. 
All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, 
Are his: without him, day were night on earth. 

Time knows not his from time's own period. 
All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, 
Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. 

All stars are angels; but the sun is God. 

— Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1882, William 
Shakespeare, Tristram of Lyonesse and 
Other Poems, p. 280. 



"How weak are words — to carry thoughts like mine!' 
Saith each dull daughter round the much bored Nine. 
Yet words sufficed for Shakespeare's suit, when he 
Woo'd Time, and won instead Eternity. 

— Watson, William, 1884, Epigrams. 



Shakespeare! — To such name's sounding, what succeeds 

Fitly as silence ? Falter forth the spell, — 

Act follows word, the speaker knows full well, 

Nor tampers with its magic more than needs. 

Two names there are: That which the Hebrew reads 



GENERAL. 341 

With his soul only: if from Hps it fell, 

Echo, back thundered by earth, heaven and hell, 

Would own "Thou didst create us!" Naught impedes 

We voice the other name, man's most of might, 

Awesomely, lovingly: let awe and love 

Mutely await their working, leave to sight 

All of the issue as — below — above — 

Shakespeare's creation rises: one remove, 

Though dread — this finite from that infinite. 

— Browning, Robert, 1884, The Names. 



The perfect model of the perfect mind! 
Within the spheric fullness of his sense, 
Within his kingly soul's circumference, 
The image of the universe was shrined; 
In lofty utterance, his tongue outlined 
The golden orb of all intelligence; 
He touched the circle of omnipotence, 
Defining things no other ere defined. 
God made but one! the rack of centuries, 
The rolHng chariot of resistless years. 
Leaves unbedimmed the amaranth he wears; 
His fame is co-eternal with the skies, 
His words are fadeless as our memories. 
His influence as deathless as our tears. 

— Matthews, James Newton, 1884, Shakespeare. 



Dante may over-top Milton, but Shakespeare surpasses 
both. He is our finest achievement; his plays our noblest 
possession; the things in the v^rorld most worth thinking 
about. To live daily in his company, to study his works 
with minute and loving care — in no spirit of pedantry 
searching for double endings, but in order to discover 
their secret, and to make the spoken word tell upon the 



342 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

hearts of man and woman — this might have been ex- 
pected to produce great intellectual if not moral results. 
— BiRRELL, Augustine, 1884, Ohiier Dicta, p. 146. 



Shakspere's pre-eminence consists chiefly in this, that 
he did supremely well what all were doing. His touch on 
life was so unerringly true that the most diverse objects 
took shape and place together naturally in his atmos- 
phere of art; even as in the full rich sunlight of a summer 
afternoon the many-moving crowds, the river, bridges, 
buildings, parks, and domes of a great city stand dis- 
tinct but harmonised. No theatre is so rich in countless 
and contrasted types of womanhood. Shakspere's women 
have passed into a proverb. — Symonds, John Adding- 
TON, 1884, Shakspere's Predecessors in the English Drama^ 
P- 58. 

His was the nectar of the gods of Greece, 

The lute of Orpheus, and the Golden Fleece 

Of grand endeavour; and the thunder-roll 

Of words majestic, which, from pole to pole, 

Have borne the tidings of our English tongue. 

He gave us Hamlet; and he taught us more 

Than schools have taught us; and his fairy-lore 

Was fraught with science; and he called from death 

Verona's Lovers, with the burning breath 

Of their great passion that has filled the spheres. 

He made us know Cordelia, and the man 

Who murder'd sleep, and baleful Caliban; 

And, one by one, athwart the gloom appear'd 

Maidens and men and myths who were revered 

In olden days, before the earth was sad. 

Aye! this is true. It was ordained so; 

He was thine own, three hundred years ago; 



GENERAL. 343 

But ours to-day; and ours till earth be red 
With doom-day splendour for the quick and dead, 
And days and nights are scattered like the leaves. 
It was for this he lived, for this he died: 
To raise to Heaven the face that never lied, 
To lean to earth the lips that should become 
Fraught with conviction when the mouth was dumb, 
And all the firm, fine body turn'd to clay. 

— Mackay, Eric, 1886, Love Letters oj a Violinist 
and Other Poems, p. 107. 



The plays in the Globe edition contain just a thousand 
closely-printed pages. I do not think that there are 
fifty in all, perhaps not twenty — putting scraps and 
patches together — in which the Shakesperian touch is 
wanting, and I do not think that that touch appears out- 
side the covers of the volume once in a thousand pages 
of all the rest of English literature. — Saintsbury, George, 
1887, History of Elizabethan Literature, p. 173. 



The rough workmanship in Shakespeare puts me out 
and often quite repels me, whereas in the great Latin, 
French, and Italian writers, as in our own Milton, there 
is usually a high degree of finish in the literary workman- 
ship itself which attracts me, and gives me a profound 
and unfailing satisfaction. — Hamerton, Philip Gilbert, 
1887, Books Which Have Influenced Me, p. 63. 



Shakespeare has served me best. Few living friends 
have had upon me an influence so strong for good as 
Hamlet or Rosalind. The last character, already well 
beloved in the reading, I had the good fortune to see, I 
must think, in an impressionable hour, played by Mrs. 



344 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Scott Siddons. Nothing has ever more moved, more de- 
lighted, more refreshed me; nor has the influence quite 
passed away. Kent's brief speech over the dying Lear 
had a great effect upon my mind, and was the burden 
of my reflections for long, so profoundly, so touchingly 
generous did it appear in sense, so overpowering in ex- 
pression. — Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1887, Books 
Which Have Injluenced Me, p. 4. 



When I was fifteen, Dicks's Shakespeare was published 
in penny weekly numbers. I had never read any of his 
plays, and as I have never to this day witnessed the 
performance of any stage play, I was then in absolute 
ignorance of what "Shakespeare" meant. The first num- 
ber contained two plays, ''Hamlet" and "Othello," at a 
halfpenny each. I shall never forget the shock — the 
bewildering shock — which I received from the last 
scene in "Hamlet." So invariably had novelists, and 
even romantic poets like Scott, brought their heroes and 
heroines happily together before they left the stage, that 
it was some time before I could realise that in "Hamlet" 
all was different. The death of Ophelia had startled me; 
that was irretrievable, no doubt; but Hamlet might still 
be saved. But when at last death swept the board, and 
the curtain fell on a universal shambles, I was dazed, 
angry, and incredulous. I read the play over again, not 
for the story this time; and then read "Othello." It was 
one of the turning-points of my life. I was fascinated. 
Every week, until the series were complete, I devoured 
the two new plays contained in each number. They 
enormously widened the horizon of life; they added new 
and vivid colour to existence, and they intensified my 
perception of the tragic issues of love and of death that 



GENERAL. 345 

are bound up in every human heart. But that was not 
all; Shakespeare was to me the key to all literature. In 
this way, in my enthusiasm for Shakespeare I greedily 
devoured criticisms of his plays wherever I found them. 

— Stead, W. T., 1887, Books Which Have Influenced 
Me, p. 28. 

It remained for Shakspere to combine the idealism 
with the realism of Love in proper proportions. The 
colours with which he painted the passion and sentiment 
of modern Love are as fresh and as true to life as on the 
day when they were first put on his canvas. Like Dante, 
however, he was emotionally ahead of his time, as an ex- 
amination of contemporary literature in England and else- 
where shows. ... It is in the works of Shakspere that 
the various motives and emotions which constitute Love 

— sensuous, aesthetic, intellectual — are for the first time 
mingled in proper proportions. Shakspere's Love is 
Modern Love, full-fledged, and therefore calls for no 
separate analysis. — Finck, Henry T., 1887, Romantic 
Love and Personal Beauty, vol. i, pp. 3, 178. 



It is said that ten thousand different essays, pamphlets 
and books have been printed and published concerning 
the life and writings of William Shakespeare. This is 
something unparalleled in the history of literature. No 
other name among men of letters has created such an 
interest. What an amazing attraction, what a boundless 
fascination, must people find in the life and character of 
this man! Men of every nation, of every rank, are cap- 
tivated by him. . . . People of foreign nations are so 
much interested in him, that they learn English merely to 
read his works in the original; and there is hardly a 



346 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

language capable of literary expression into whidi these 
works have not been again and again translated. He is 
called the father of German literature, and even at the 
present day is more read and studied in Germany than 
any native author. His birthplace, now the property of 
the English nation, has become a Mecca to which pil- 
grims from the four corners of the world resort; the rela- 
tion and explanation of the events of his life form one of 
the great problems of modern times; and societies for the 
study and elucidation of his writings have been organized 
in every part of the civilized world. He is the glory of 
the English-speaking race, and every member of that 
race, from one end of the world to the other, is more or 
less indebted to him for what he is, for what culture or 
enlightenment he possesses, for what largeness of view, 
superior power of expression, or increased social and in- 
tellectual advantages he enjoys; — indeed, I may say that 
mankind is indebted to him for a richer and more copious 
speech, a larger social and intellectual life, and a more 
abundant fund of rational amusement, than it ever pos- 
sessed before. — Waters, Robert, 1888, William Shake- 
speare Portrayed by Himself, pp. i, 2. 



Superb and inimitable as all is, it is mostly an objective 
and physiological kind of power and beauty the soul finds 
in Shakspere — a style supremely grand of the sort, but 
in my opinion stopping short of the grandest sort, at any 
rate for fulfilling and satisfying modern and scientific 
and democratic American purposes. Think, not of 
growths as forests primeval, or Yellowstone geysers, or 
Colorado ravines, but of costly marble palaces, and palace 
rooms, and the noblest fixings and furniture, and noble 



GENERAL. 347 

owners and occupants to correspond — think of carefully 
built gardens from the beautiful but sophisticated garden- 
ing art at its best, with walks and bowers and artificial 
lakes, and appropriate statue-groups and the finest culti- 
vated roses and lilies and japonicas in plenty — and you 
have the tally of Shakspere. The low characters, me- 
chanics, even the loyal henchmen — all in themselves 
nothing — serve as capital foils to the aristocracy. The 
comedies (exquisite as they certainly are) bringing in 
admirably portray'd common characters, have the unmis- 
takable hue of plays, portraits, made for the divertise- 
ment only of the elite of the castle, and from its point of 
view. The comedies are altogether non-acce»ptable to 
America and Democracy. But to the deepest soul, it 
seems a shame to pick and choose from the riches Shak- 
spere has left us — to criticise his infinitely royal, multi- 
form quality — to gauge, with optic glasses, the dazzle 
of his sun-like beams. — Whitman, Walt, 1888, Novem- 
ber Boughs, p. 56. 

For my part, I believe that Shakespeare wrote his plays, 
like the conscientious playwright that he was, to fill the 
theatre and make money for his fellow-actors and for 
himself; and I confess to absolute scepticism in reference 
to the belief that in these dramas Shakespeare's self can 
be discovered (except on the broadest lines), or that 
either his outer or his inner life is to any discoverable 
degree reflected in his plays; it is because Shakespeare is 
not there that the characters are so perfect, — the smallest 
dash of the author's self would mar to that extent the 
truth of the character, and make of it a mask. — Furness, 
Horace Howard, 1890, ed. New Variorum Edition of 
Shakespeare, As You Like It, Introduction, p. viii. 



348 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

So large a space did the great dramatist fill in the de- 
lightsome journey we were to make together, down through 
the pleasant country of English letters, that he seemed 
not so much a personality as some great British strong- 
hold, with outworks, and with pennons flying — standing 
all athwart the Elizabethan Valley, down which our 
track was to lead us. From far away back of Chaucer, 
when the first Romances of King Arthur were told, when 
glimpses of a King Lear and a Macbeth appeared in old 
chronicles — this great monument of Elizabethan times 
loomed high in our front; and go far as we may down 
the current of English letters, it will not be out of sight, 
but loom up grandly behind us. And now that we are 
fairly abreast of it, my fancy still clings to that figure of 
a great castle — brimful of life — with which the lesser 
poets of the age contrast like so many out-lying towerss 
that we can walk all round about, and measure, and 
scale, and tell of their age, and forces, and style; but this 
Shakesperean hulk is so vast, so wondrous, so peopled 
with creatures, who are real, yet unreal — that measure 
and scale count for nothing. We hear around it the 
tramp of armies and the blare of trumpets; yet these do 
not drown the sick voice of poor distraught Ophelia. 
We see the white banner of France flung to the breeze, 
and the English columbine nodding in clefts of the wall; 
we hear the ravens croak from turrets that lift above 
the chamber of Macbeth, and the howling of the rain- 
storms that drenched poor Lear; and we see Jessica at 
her casement, and the Jew Shylock whetting his greedy 
knife, and the humpbacked Richard raging in battle, 
and the Prince boy — apart in his dim tower — piteously 
questioning the jailer Hubert, who has brought ''hot- 
irons" with him. Then there is Falstaff, and Dame 



GENERAL. 349 

Quickly, and the pretty Juliet sighing herself away from 
her moonlit balcony. These are all live people to us; 
we know them; and we know Hamlet, and Brutus, and 
Mark Antony, and the witty, coquettish Rosalind; even 
the poor Mariana of the moated grange. — Mitchell, 
Donald G., 1890, English Lands Letters and Kings, 
From Elizabeth to Anne, p. 57. 



Herein Chaucer stands at the opposite pole from Shak- 
speare. The work of the latter abounds in coarse allu- 
sions, in filthy conceits, in double meanings. But these 
passages in the great dramatist's writings are supremely 
uninteresting. They are as tedious as they are vile. 
They cannot be called innocent, but they are innocuous, 
owing to the saving grace of stupidity. When Shak- 
speare appeals to the lower nature, he does it largely 
through the agency of verbal quibbles, which are, if pos- 
sible, more execrable intellectually than they are morally. 
To trace the allusions contained in them, to unravel the 
obscurities inwrapped in them, involve a degree of labor 
which few are willing to bestow, or a previous acquaint- 
ance with human nastiness that few have qualified them- 
selves to possess. The result is that these things are 
constantly passed over unnoticed. There is little attrac- 
tion in the pursuit of knowledge peculiarly difficult to 
acquire, and with which, when obtained, the acquirer is 
more disgusted than pleased. — Lounsbury, Thomas R., 
1 89 1, Studies in Chaucer, vol. iii, p. 364. 



I seldom refer to Shakespeare in these lectures, since 
we all instinctively resort to him as to nat\ire itself; his 
text being not only the chief illustration of each phrase 
that may arise, but also, like nature, presenting all phases 



350 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

in combination. It displays more of clear and various 
beauty, more insight, surer descriptive touches, — above 
all, more human life, — than that of any other poet; yes, 
and more art, in spite of a certain constructive disdain, 
— the free and prodigal art that is like nature's own. 
Thus he seems to require our whole attention or none, 
and it is as well to illustrate a special quality by some 
poet more dependent upon it. Yet if there is one gift 
which sets Shakespeare at a distance even from those 
who approach him on one or another side, it is that of 
his imagination. As he is the chief of poets, we infer 
that the faculty in which he is supereminent must be the 
greatest of poetic endowments. Yes: in his wonderland, 
as elsewhere, imagination is king. There is little doubt 
concerning the hold of Shakespeare upon future ages. I 
have sometimes debated whether, in the change of dra- 
matic ideals and of methods in life and thought, he may 
not become outworn and alien. But the purely creative 
quality of his imagination renders it likely that its struc- 
tures will endure. . . . Shakespeare's imagination is still 
more independent of discovery, place, or time. It is neither 
early nor late, antiquated nor modern; or, rather, it is al- 
ways modern and abiding. — Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 
1892, The Nature and Elements of Poetry, pp. 229, 230. 



Shakespeare is the first among the great English poets 
since the Old English period in whom the Teutonic spirit 
again overpoweringly asserts itself, and presses into its 
service all those elements of foreign culture which were 
assimilated by the national character. In him we find 
again that soul-stirring note of deep feeling, that simple 
boldness of poetic expression, which plunges us, without 
preparation or mediation, — apparently without any effort 



GENERAL, 3 5 I 

at artistic effect, — into the very heart of the subject; 
in short, he has that genuineness of sentiment which is a 
chief characteristic of Germanic poesy. — Ten Brink, 
Bernhard, 1892-95, Five Lectures on Shakespeare, tr. 
Franklin, p. 33. 

Shakespeare loved his England and so sounded her 
praises. The imagination of the poet seized upon the 
skeleton of the chroniclers and clothed them with flesh 
and blood. From King John to Henry VIII., from 
Magna Charta to the Reformation, whether conscious or 
not of the splendid scope of his achievement, the poet 
historian has sung an immortal epic of the English nation, 
having for its dominant note the passing of feudalism 
and the rise of the common people. The germ of this 
development has never died out of the souls of that hardy 
race whose forefathers crept across the gray waste of the 
German ocean in their frail boats of wood and hide, to 
grapple with unknown foes upon unknown shores, and to 
lay the cornerstone of that great and free nation, of whose 
best life Shakespeare was the poet, chronicler, and seer. 
— Warner, Beverley E., 1894, English History in 
Shakespeare's Plays, p. 1$. 



Probably no dramatist ever needed the stage less, and 
none ever brought more to it. There have been few joys 
for me in life comparable to that of seeing the curtain 
rise on Hamlet, and hearing the guards begin to talk 
about the ghost; and yet how fully this joy imparts itself 
without any material embodiment! It is the same in the 
whole range of his plays: they fill the scene, but if there 
is no scene they fill the soul. They are neither worse nor 
better because of the theatre. They are so gre^t that it 



352 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

cannot hamper them; they are so vital that they enlarge 
it to their own proportions and endue it with something 
of their own living force. They make it the size of life, 
and yet they retire it so wholly that you think no more of 
it than you think of the physiognomy of one who talks 
importantly to you. I have heard people say that they 
would rather not see Shakespeare played than to see 
him played ill, but I cannot agree with them. He can 
better afiford to be played ill than any other man that 
ever wrote. Whoever is on the stage it is always Shake- 
speare who is speaking to me, and perhaps this is the 
reason why in the past I can trace no discrepancy be- 
tween reading his plays and seeing them. — Howells, 
William Dean, 1895, My Literary Passions, p. 75. 



We cannot lay our hand on anything and say for cer- 
tain that it was spoken by Shakespeare out of his own 
personality. He created men and women whose dramatic 
action on each other, and towards a chosen end, was in- 
tended to please the public, not to reveal himself. Fre- 
quently failing in fineness of workmanship, having, but 
far less than the other dramatists, the faults of the art of 
his time, he was yet in all other points — in creative 
power, in impassioned conception and execution, in truth 
to universal human nature, in intellectual power, in in- 
tensity of feeling, in the great matter and manner of his 
poetry, in the welding together of thought, passion, and 
action, in range, in plenteousness, in the continuance of 
his romantic feeling — the greatest poet our modern 
world has known. Like the rest of the greater poets, he 
reflected the noble things of his time, but refused to re- 
flect the base. — Brooke, Stopford A., 1896, English 
Literature, p. 140. 



GENERAL. 353 

The first poet who recognised insanity as a disease 
and painted it as such is Shakespeare, whose fine power 
of observation far outstripped his age. He who could 
paint the world in all its truth and reality, who was able 
to reproduce the most diverse characters, unfalsified and 
true to Nature, succeeded also in painting in a masterly 
way mental derangements in all their typical phenomena, 
just as we observe them to-day, and this at a time at 
which science was far from a correct recognition of physi- 
cal disorders. In Shakespeare, the derangements of King 
Lear, Hamlet, and Lady Macbeth are photographic re- 
productions of pure objective experience. They fill out 
certainly the world of the poet who painted all human 
passions with minute fidelity in his plays, and therefore 
undertook also to paint according to his observation the 
human mind under morbid obscuration. In these char- 
acters, therefore, we have neither the embodiment of any 
particular conception of the universe nor an artistic 
dressing up of any moral or doctrine. — Hirsch, William, 
1896, Genius and Degeneration, p. 321. 



He is an author whom, however we read him, we can 
hardly read amiss. Yet, just because of this fact, which 
we may misunderstand as implying that any reading of 
Shakspere is as good as any other, we are in danger of 
approaching him in a way to shut up our sympathies and 
imaginations, and so cut ourselves off from the main 
avenues of his power. The earnest student, who sees the 
libraries that have grown up about the works of Shak- 
spere, can hardly escape the inference that the great 
dramatist is properly an object only of study. Yet never 
was there conclusion that Shakspere himself would sooner 
have repudiated. What was the audience for whom 



354 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 

Shakspere wrote his plays? Exclusively an audience that 
gathered to be amused. Entertainment, not instruction, 
was Shakspere's aim. Shakspere does teach us in a 
myriad ways, and may properly be made the object of 
almost innumerable kinds of study; but the fact remains 
that, until we have read his plays, or, still better, have 
seen them acted, with no other purpose than pure enjoy- 
ment, we have not yet known Shakspere. — Koopman, 
Harry Lyman, 1896, The Mastery 0] Books, p. 24. 



In Shakespeare an heroic epoch culminates; he is the 
commanding peak of a vast group of mountains. It is 
therefore vain to consider him as though he stood alone, 
a solitary portent in a plain. More than any other of 
the greatest poets of the world, he rises, by insensible de- 
grees, on the shoulders and the hands of a crowd of 
precursors, yet so rapidly did this crowd collect that our 
eyes are scarcely quick enough to perceive the process. 
... Of those whose inestimable privilege it was to meet 
Shakespeare day by day, we have no evidence that one 
perceived the supremacy of his genius. The case is rather 
curious, for it was not that anything austere or arrogant 
in himself or his work repelled recognition, or that those 
who gazed were blinded by excess of light. On the con- 
trary, it seemed to his own friends that they appreciated 
his aimable, easy talent at its proper value; he was "gen- 
tle" Shakespeare to them, and they loved both the man 
and his poetry. But that he excelled them all at every 
point, as the oak excels the willow, this, had it been 
whispered at the Mermaid, would have aroused smiles of 
derision. . . . For another century the peak of the 
mountain was shrouded in mists, although its height was 
vaguely conjectured. Dryden, our earliest modern critic, 



GENERAL. 355 

gradually perceived Shakespeare's greatness, and pro- 
claimed it in his "Prefaces." Meanwhile, and on until a 
century after Shakespeare's death, this most glorious of 
English names had not penetrated across the Channel, 
and was absolutely unrecognised in France. Voltaire in- 
troduced Shakespeare to French readers in 1731, and 
''Hamlet" was translated by Ducis in 1769. Here at 
home, in the generations of Pope and Johnson, the mag- 
nitude of Shakespeare became gradually apparent to all 
English critics, and with Garrick his plays once more 
took the stage. Yet into all the honest admiration of 
the eighteenth century there entered a prosaic element; 
the greatness was felt, but vaguely and painfully. At the 
end of the age of Johnson a generation was born to whom, 
for the first time, Shakespeare spoke with clear accents. 
Coleridge and Hazlitt expounded him to a world so ready 
to accept him, that in regarding the great Revival of 
1800 Shakespeare seems almost as completely a factor in 
it as Wordsworth himself. In the hands of such critics, 
for the first time, the fog cleared away from the majestic 
mountain, and showed to the gaze of the world its varied 
and harmonious splendour. — Gosse, Edmund, 1897, 
Short History of Modern English Literature, pp. 100, 108. 



Strictly speaking, there is no literary fame worth envy- 
ing, save Shakespeare's — and Shakespeare's amounted 
to this, that Addison wrote "An Account of the Greatest 
English Poets" in which his name does not appear; and 
that, of the people one meets in the streets of any city, 
the majority will not even have heard of him. — Higgin- 
soN, Thomas Wentworth, 1897, Favorites oj a Day, 
Book and Heart, p. 78. 



356 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

Shakespeare is a well-spring of characters which are 
saturated with the comic spirit; with more of what we 
will call blood-life than is to be found anywhere out of 
Shakespeare; and they are of this world, but they are of 
the world enlarged to our embrace by imagination, and 
by great poetic imagination. — Meredith, George, 1897, 
An Essay on Comedy and the Uses of the Comic Spirit^ 
p. 16. 

I have not intended to compare the poetry of Shake- 
speare with the poetry of the Bible. Shakespeare has 
neither the eloquence of Isaiah nor the sublimity of Job. 
What Shakespeare does not profess to do. Job and Isaiah 
do profess to do — namely, to teach of God and duty. 
Nor have I intended to compare the merits of the great 
uninspired poets, or to call one greater and another less. 
It is better to call each great in his peculiar sphere. But 
in the creation of character Shakespeare so far surpasses 
all others, that by common consent we have come to re- 
gard him as the greatest secular poet of the world. Will 
the world ever see a poet who shall surpass him? It can 
only be by adding Dante's vision of God and Words- 
worth's vision of nature to Shakespeare's vision of hu- 
manity. Until some inspired bard shall touch all these 
several strings with simultaneous and equal mastery, we 
may well content ourselves with Shakespeare. — Strong, 
Augustus Hopkins, 1897, The Great Poets and Their 
Theology, p. 219. 

Shakespeare's spirit is not to be assimilated; this is 
impossible to a man of our time: one can but dress one- 
self up in the cast-off garment which served as a cover- 
ing to his genius. This garment does not suit us, — it is 



GENERAL. 357 

either too long or too short, or both together. One dresses 
up as Shakespeare for an hour, and resembles the great 
man about as much as a lawyer's clerk, masquerading en 
moMsquetaire, resembles d'Artagnan, or as the Turk of 
carnival time resembles the genuine Turk smoking his 
pipe outside his cafe in Stamboul. This tremendous 
model, all whose aspects we cannot see because it goes 
beyond the orbit of our perspective glass, oppresses and 
paralyses our intelligence: did one understand it, one 
would not be much the better ofif. It would be sheer 
folly to wish the modern English dramatist not to read 
his Shakespeare, for it is in Shakespeare that he will 
find the English character in all its length and breadth; 
let him absorb and steep himself in Shakespeare by all 
means: but let him then forget Shakespeare and be of 
his own time, let him not walk our streets of to-day in 
the doublet and hose of 1600. The choice has to be 
made between Shakespeare and life, for in literature, as 
in morals, it is not possible to serve two masters. It is 
possible that Shakespeare has been, and is still, the great 
obstacle to a free development of a national drama. Nor 
is there anything to be astonished at in this. The Shake- 
speare whom we know could not have been born when 
he was had there been another Shakespeare two and a 
half centuries before. — Filon, Augustin, 1897, The 
English Stage, tr. Whyte, p. 175. 



The first edition of Shakespeare's Plays (folio, 1623) 
has been rising in price from the commencement of the 
nineteenth century; but the enormous prices now paid 
do not date further back than 1864, when a specially fine 
copy was bought by the Baroness Burdett-Coutts at 
George Daniel's sale for ;^7i6, 2s. This amount was 



358 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

paid on account of the height of the book and of its great 
beauty, and possibly the circumstance of the year being 
the tercentenary of Shakespeare's birth had something to 
do with it, but this sale had the effect of raising the price 
of all copies permanently. . . . The following is a list 
of some of the copies which have been sold since the 
famous Daniel copy: — In 1882 Beresford-Hope's copy, 
with verses inlaid, title repaired, in morocco by Clarke, 
fetched ;^238; and Ouvry's sound copy, in red morocco 
by Clarke and Bedford, sold for ;^42o. The Earl of 
Gosford's copy, perfect, with title and verses mounted, 
and margins of leaves slightly mended, was sold in 1884 
for ;i^47o. Hartley's copy was in poor condition, al- 
though very tall (13I by 8f), title with portrait wanting, 
page with verses mutilated, and some leaves mended. It 
sold in 1887 for £2^^. Hartley gave ;^5oo for it to those 
who had bought it at a knock-out for ;^75. The Earl 
of Aylesford's copy, wanting title, with verses from sec- 
ond edition, and five leaves stained, sold in 1888 for ;^2oo. 
In 1889 F. Perkin's copy, with title and verses mounted, 
sold for ;^4i5; and Halliwell Phillipps's poor copy, with 
portrait, verses, preliminary and last leaf in facsimile, for 
;^95. W. H. Crawford's imperfect copy, with title, verses, 
prefatory matter, and ''Cymbeline" reprinted in facsimile, 
sold in 1891 for ;^i6, los. In this same year Brayton 
Ives's copy, perfect, but rather short, was sold in New 
York for 4,200 dollars (:^84o). — Wheatley, Henry B., 
1898, Prices of Books, pp. 223, 228. 



The monarch of mankind! they are proud words those, 
but they do not altogether over-estimate the truth. He 
is by no means the only king in the intellectual world, 
but his power is unlimited by time or space. From the 



GENERAL. 359 

moment his life's history ceases his far greater history- 
begins. We find its first records in Great Britain, and 
consequently in North America; then it spread among the 
German-speaking peoples and the whole Teutonic race, 
on through the Scandinavian countries to the Finns and 
the Sclavonic races. We find his influence in France, 
Spain, and Italy; and now, in the nineteenth century, it 
may be traced over the whole civilised world. His writ- 
ings are translated into every tongue and all the lan- 
guages of the earth do him honour. . . . All the real in- 
tellectual life of England since his day has been stamped 
by his genius, all her creative spirits have imbibed their 
life's nourishment from his works. Modern German in- 
tellectual life is based, through Lessing, upon him. Goethe 
and Schiller are unimaginable without him. His influ- 
ence is felt in France through Voltaire, Victor Hugo, and 
Alfred de Vigny. Ludovic Vitet and Alfred de Musset 
were from the very first inspired by him. Not only the 
drama in Russia and Poland felt his influence, but the 
inmost spiritual life of the Sclavonic story-tellers and 
brooders is fashioned after the pattern of his imperish- 
able creations. From the moment of the regeneration of 
poetry in the North he was reverenced by Ewald, Oehlen- 
schlager, Bredahl, and Hauch, and he is not without his 
influence upon Bjornson and Ibsen. — Brandes, George, 
1898, William Shakespeare^ A Critical Study, vol. 11, p. 
411. 

No estimate of Shakespeare's genius can be adequate. 
In knowledge of human character, in wealth of humour, 
in depth of passion, in fertility of fancy, and in soundness 
of judgment he has no rival. It is true of him, as of no 
other writer, that his language and versification adapt 



36o WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

themselves to every phase of sentiment, and sound every 
note in the scale of felicity. Some defects are to be 
acknowledged, but they sink into insignificance when 
measured by the magnitude of his achievement. Sudden 
transitions, elliptical expressions, mixed metaphors, in- 
defensible verbal quibbles, and fantastic conceits at times 
create an atmosphere of obscurity. The student is per- 
plexed, too, by obsolete words and by some hopelessly 
corrupt readings. But when the whole of Shakespeare's 
vast work is scrutinised with due attention, the glow of 
his imagination is seen to leave few passages wholly un- 
illumined. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, A Life oj William 
Shakespeare, p. 355. 

Shakespeare could be idealistic when he dreamed, as 
he could be spiritual when he reflected. The spectacle 
of life did not pass before his eyes as a mere phantas- 
magoria. He seized upon its principles; he became wise. 
Nothing can exceed the ripeness of his seasoned judg- 
ment, or the occasional breadth, sadness, and terseness 
of his reflection. The author of ''Hamlet" could not be 
without metaphysical aptitude; ''Macbeth" could not 
have been written without a sort of sibylline inspiration, 
or the Sonnets without something of the Platonic mind. 
It is all the more remarkable, therefore, that we should 
have to search through all the works of Shakespeare to 
find half a dozen passages that have so much as a re- 
ligious sound, and that even these passages, upon exam- 
inations, should prove not to be the expression of any 
deep religious conception. If Shakespeare had been with- 
out metaphysical capacity, or without moral maturity, we 
could have explained his strange insensibility to religion; 
but as it is, we must marvel at his indifference and ask 



GENERAL. 36 1 

ourselves what can be the causes of it. For, even if we 
should not regard the absence of religion as an imperfec- 
tion in his own thought, we must admit it to be an incom- 
pleteness in his portrayal of the thought of others. — 
Santayana, George, 1900, Interpretations of Poetry and 
Religion, p. 153. 

As the Spokesman of a race to which has fallen a large 
share of the government of the modern world, and as 
the chief exponent in literature of the fundamental con- 
ception of life held by the Western world at a time when 
the thought of the East and the West are being brought 
into searching comparison, Shakespeare must be studied 
in the near future with a deeper recognition of the signi- 
ficance of his work and its value as a source of spiritual 
culture. — Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1900, William 
Shakespeare, Poet, Dramatist, and Man, Preface, p. vii. 



INDEX. 



Addison, Joseph, 202, 291. 
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 16. 
Alford, Henry, 310. 
Allen, Charles, 278. 
Anonymous, 21, 213. 
Arnold, Sir Edwin, 320. 
Arnold, Matthew, 316, 338. 
Arnold, Thomas, 208. 
Aubrey, John, 7, 287. 

Bacon, Deha, 269. 

Bancroft, Thomas, 284. 

Barkstead, William, 21. 

Barnfield, Richard, 26. 

Bascom, John, 336. 

Basse, William, 4. 

Baynes, T. Spencer, 15. 

Benedix, Roderich, 164. 

Birrell, Augustine, 342. 

Blair, Hugh, 297. 

Bodenstedt, Friedrich, 163. 

Boerne, L., 157. 

Bonaparte, Prince Lucien, 300. 

Brandes, George, 18, 25, 28,36, 48 
82, 8s, 94. loSi "7, i3Si 146, 
173, 177, 187, 201, 211, 219, 
233,237. 239. 249, 253, 265, 
359- 

Brewer, John Sherren, 15, 33i- 

Brigham, A., M.D., 207. 

Brooke, Christopher, 86. 

Brooke, Stopford A., 352. 

Brown, Charles Armitage, 56, 
148. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 315, 

Browning, Robert, 341. 

Bryant, William Cullen, 270, 333. 

Bucknill, John Charles, M.D., 
232. 

Bullen, A. H., 47. 

Byron, Lord, 73, 300. 

Campbell, Thomas, 31, 62, 76,88, 
194, 251, 260, 311. 



,66, 

167, 
22s, 
276, 



68, 
316. 

196, 



Carlyle, Thomas, 9, 314. 
Cartwright, William, 285. 
Cary, Henry Francis, 214. 
Cavendish, Margaret, 286. 
Chamberlain, Robert, 284. 
Chasles Philarete, 78, 163, 312. 
Chateaubriand, Frangois Rene, 72, 

IS9, 299- 
Chettle, Henry, 3. 
Church, Richard William, 273. 
Churchill, Charles, 294- 
Cibber, Theophilus, 293. 
Clarke, Charles Cowden, 58,63, 103, 

124, 128, 14s, 246, 328. 
Clarke, James Freeman, 272. 
Clayden, P. W., 199. 
Coleridge, Hartley, 63, 128, 255, 309. 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 52, 56, 

74, 84, 136, i57» 170, 175, 183, 191, 

205, 216, 220, 238, 303. 
Collier, John Payne, 318. 
Condell, Henrie, 282. 
Cope, Sir Walter, 50. 
Corbet, Richard, 86. 
Courdaveaux, V., 163. 
Courtenay, Thomas Peregrine, 94, 

195,221. 
Craik, George L.,325. 

Dall, Caroline Healey, 23. 

Daniel, George, 285. 

Davies', John, 3, 22, 279. 

Davies, Thomas, 83, loi, 120, 259. 

Dedication of Venus and Adonis, 20. 

Dedication of the Rape of Lucrece, 26. 

Dennis, John, 125. 

De Quincey, Thomas, 192, 245, 306, 

313- 
Dibdin, Charles, 43, 67, 72, 83, 135, 

169, 180, 203, 226, 238, 265, 266, 

267, 297. 
Digges, Leonard, 174. 
DisraeU, Isaac, 38. 
Dobell, Sydney, 318. 



Z^3 



364 



INDEX. 



Donnelly, Ignatius, 274. 
Douce, Francis, 203, 215, 235. 
Dovvden, Edward, 28, 33, 45, 57, 92, 

96, 103, 129, 134, 176, 208, 228. 
Drake, Nathan, 55, 61, 87, 236. 
Draper, John William, 324. 
Drayton, Michael, 26, 282. 
Drummond, William, 255. 
Dryden, John, 71, 214, 241, 2S6, 287. 
Dyce, Alexander, 31. 

Eckermann, John Peter, 192,216,307. 

Elze, Karl, 162. 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 40, 261, 318. 

Evans, H. A., 252. 

Evelyn, John, 150. 

Filon, Augustine, 357. 

Finck, Henry T., 345. 

Fleay, Frederick Gard, 45, 232. 

Fleming, William H., 122. 

Fletcher, George, 196. 

Eraser, John, 274. 

Freeman, Thomas, 27. 

Freiligrath, Ferdinand, 159. 

French, George Russell, 114. 

Frey, Albert R., 117. 

Freytag, Gustav, 327. 

Fuller, Thomas, 6, 118. 

Fumess, Horace Howard, 66, 165, 

247, 347- 
Furnivall, Frederick James, 33, 46, 70, 

93> 97j 104, 122, 210, 2:8, 223, 255. 

Cans, Eduard, 158. 

Gamett, Richard, 247. 

Garrick, David, 8. 

Gentleman, Francis, 138. 

Gervinus, G. G., 77, 85, 90, 96, 121, 

133, 137, 144, 160. 
Gesta, Grayorum, 55. 
Gifford, William, 299. 
Girardin, Saint-Marc, 79. 
Godwin, Parke, 37. 
Godwin, William, 215, 298. 
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 153. 
Gollancz, Israel, 29, 41, 58, 81, 229, 

257. 
Gosse, Edmund, 134, 355. 
Gray, Thomas, 293. 
Green, John Richard, no. 
Greene, Robert, 2. 
Griffin, W. Hall, 224, 253. 
Grimm, Herman, 164. 
Grosart, Alexander B., 40. 



Guizot, Frangois Pierre Guillaume, 22, 
30,43, 74,84, 126, 132, 157, 183, 
236, 243, 260. 

Hales, John, 284. 

Hales, John W., 209. 

Hallam, Henry, 10, 32, 43, 52, 61,68, 

76, 108, 127, 140, 171, 236, 263. 
Halliwell-Phillipps, J. O., 40, 54. 
Hamerton, Philip Gilbert, 343. 
Hanmer, 6" /r Thomas, 151, 
Hare,A. W. a«arj.C.,88. 
Harrison, Frederic, 339. 
Hart, Joseph C, 269. 
Haywood, Eliza, 292. 
Hazlitt, William, 27, 51, 60, 67, 87, 

107, 113, 120, 126, 135, i39> 143, 

147, 156, 190, 205, 215, 227, 230, 

243, 250, 259, 303. 
Hebler, C, 162. 

Heine, Heinrich, 99, 109, 260, 311. 
Heminge, John, 282. 
Heraud, John A., 13, 63, 141. 
Herder, Johann Gottfried, 155. 
Heywood, Thomas, 5, 37. 
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, 355. 
Hirsch, William, 353. 
Holland, Hugh, 282. 
Holmes, Nathaniel, 273. 
Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 328. 
Holt, John, 242. 
Hood, Thomas, 308. 
Horn, Franz, 183, 305. 
Howells, William Dean, 80, 123, 352. 
Hudson, Henry N., 46, 90, 98, 114, 

142, 340. 
Hugo, Victor, 12, 161, 186, 246, 331. 
Hume, David, 293. 
Hunt, Leigh, 309. 
Hunter, Joseph, 11, 195. 

Inchbald, Elizabeth, 254. 

Ingleby, Clement Mansfield, 272. 

Inscription on tablet over Shake- 
speare's grave, i. 

Inscriptions on tablet under Shake- 
speare's Bust, in the Chancel- 
north-wall of Stratford Church, 4. 

Irving, Washington, 8. 

Jackson, Zachariah, 303. 

Jameson, Anna Brownell, 76, 98, 102, 
137, 140, 148, 158, 183, 194, 206, 
220, 227, 244, 251, 254, 308. 

Jeffrey, Francis, 300. 



INDEX, 



365 



Johnson, John, 285. 

Johnson, Samuel, 42, 50,60, 67, 83, 
87, 100, loi, 123, 125, 138, 146, 
151, 169, 175, 180, 188, 226, 230, 
242, 250, 296. 

J(onson) B(en), 5. 

JonsoDj Ben, 42, 240, 281, 283. 

Keeling, Captain, 150. 

Keightley, Thomas, 70. 

Kemble, Frances Anne, iii, 271. 

Klein, L., 160. 

Knight, Charles, 44, 62, 84, 133, 144, 

231, 237. 
Koopman, Harry Lyman, 354. 
Kreyssig, F., no, 161, 197, 208. 

Lacroix, Albert, 321. 

Lamartine, Alphonse Marie Louis de, 

79, 198. 
Lamb, Charles, 156, 175, 184, 204. 
Langbaine, Gerard, 60, 119. 
Lee, Sidney, 17, 29, 35, 168, 277, 360. 
Leighton, Robert, 13. 
Lennox, Charlotte, 202, 254. 
Leo, F. A., 200. 
Lillo, George, 235. 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 334, 
Lorkins, Thomas, 258. 
Lounsbury, Thomas R., 349. 
Lowell, James Russell, 164, 246, 322. 
Lowth, Robert, 180. 
Ludwig, Otto, 164= 
Lytton, Edward, Lord, 323. 

Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 19, 24, 66, 

178,361. 
Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 183, 

307- 
Macdonald, George, 328. 
Mackay, Charles, 318. 
Mackay, Eric, 343. 
Maginn, William, 77. 
Manningham, John, 143. 
Marsh, George P., 326. 
Martin, Lady (Helena Faucit), 81 

112, 142. 
Massey, Gerald, 45. 
Matthews, James Newton, 341, 
Meredith, George, 356. 
Meres, Francis, 279. 
Mezieres, Alfred, 79, 197. 
Milton John, 59, 283. 
Minto, WiUiam, 145, 222, 337. 
Mitchell, Donald G., 349. 



Montagu, Ejizabeth, 119. 
Montegut, l£mile, 255. 
Morgan, Appleton, 23. 
Morgann, Maurice, 94, 119. 
Morley, Henry, 48, 130, 224, 253. 

Neil, Samuel, 324. 
North, Sir Thomas, 225. 

Otway, Thomas, 288. 

Palgrave, Francis Turner, 32, 334. 

Pater, Walter, 54, 172. 

Pepys, Samuel, 59, 71, 113, "8, 143, 

150, 178, 188, 240, 258. 
Phillips, Edward, 288. 
Poor, Laura Elizabeth, 339. 
Pope, Alexander, 292. 
Preface to First Edition of Troilus 

and Cressida, 212. 
Prior, Sir James, 268. 
Procter, Bryan Waller, 311. 
Prologue, Romeo and Juliet, 71. 
Pye, Henry James, 106, 300. 

Quiller-Couch, A. T., 39. 

Rapp, Moritz, 207. 
Ravenscroft, Edward, 42. 
Richardson, William, 154. 
Rolfe, WilHam, J., 34,40,47, 239. 
Rowe, Nicholas, 7, 105. 
Ruggles, Henry J., 219. 
Ruskin, John, 316. 
Rymer, Thomas, 174, 179. 

Saintsbury, George, 24, 35, 131, 142, 

173,237, 249, 264, 343. 
Salvini, Tommaso, 167. 
Santayana, George, 361. 
Scherr, J., 336 
Schlegel, Augustus William, 51, 73, 

107, 155, 169, 189, 203. 
Schlegel, Frederick, 302. 
Scoloker, Anthony, 149. 
Scott, Sir Walter, 189, 301. 
Sedley, Sir Charles, 289. 
Seymour, E. H., 235. 
Shadwell, Thomas, 229. 
Shaftesbury, Anthony, ^«r/^, 290. 
Shairp, John Campbell, 337. 
Sharp, R. Farquharson, i. 
Sharp, William, 34. 
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 30, 206,303. 
Sheppard, Samuel, 234. 



366 



INDEX. 




Siddons, Sarah, 102, 193. 
Simpson, Richard, 91, 337. 
Skottowe, Augustine, 52, 108, 147. 
Smith, Alexander, 328. 
Snider, Denton Jaques, iii, 116, 149, 

187, 233, 253. 
Southey, Robert, 310. 
Southwell, Robert, 21. 
Spalding, William, 239. 
Spedding, James, 261. 
Spenser, Edmund, 278. 
Sprague, Homer B., 335. 
Stael, Madajfted-Q, 242, 298. 
Stapfer, Paul, 23, 46, 57, 176, 218, 

223,228. 
Stead, W.T., 345. 
Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 248, 

350- 

Sterling, John, 314. 

Stevens, George, 154. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 344. 

Story, William Wetmore, 276. 

Strong, Augustus Hopkins, 356. 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 22, 29, 
38,54,64, 70, 80, 93, 115, 130, 13S, 
142,166, 172, 210, 228, 251, 256, 
262, 264, 266, 266, 267, 340. 

Symonds, John Addington,35, 342. 

Symons, Arthur, 256, 263. 

Taine, H. A., 13, 121, 141, 164, 332. 

Tate, Nahum, 202, 289. 

Tatham, J., 234. 

Taylor, Bayard, 333. 

Taylor, John, 59. 

Taylor, Robert, 234. 

Temple, Sir William, 288. 

Ten Brink, Bernhard, 65, 112, 187, 

200, 211, 218, 351. 
Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 81, 99, 104, 

167, 186, 200, 211, 262. 
Thomson, James, 292. 
Thoreau, Henry David, 316. 
Thornbury, George Walter, 320. 



Tieck, Johann Ludwig, 75. 
T(ofte) R(obert), 49. 
Trench, Richard Chenevix, 329. 
Tyler, James Endell, 121. 

Ulrici, Hermann, 44, 56, 69, 109, 113, 
159, 171, 184, 231. 

Vaughn, Henry Halford, 100. 
Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 44, 53, 

62,69, 90, 95, 113, 124,127, 171, 

185, 216, 222, 245. 
Voltaire, Frangois Marie Arouet, 



152- 



Walkley, Thomas, 178. 

Walpole, Horace, 106, 296. 

Warburton, William, 241. 

Ward, Adolphus William, 64,91, 165, 

264. 
Ward, Rev. John, 5. 
Warner, Beverley E., 351. 
Waters, Robert, 346. 
Watson, William, 340. 
Weever, John, 174, 279. 
Weiss, John, 64, 165. 
Welsh, Alfred H., 199. 
Whately, Richard, 320. 
Whately, Thomas, 189. 
Wheatley, Henry B., 358. 
Whipple, Edwin P., 12, 275, 323. 
White, Richard Grant, 217, 245, 331. 
Whitman, Walt, 347- 
Wilkes, George, 271. 
Wilson, John, 305. 
Winter, William, 65. 
Wiseman, Nicholas Patrick Stephen, 

162. 
Wordsworth, Charles, 330. 
Wordsworth, William, 31, 180. 
Wotton, Sir Henry, 258. 
Wyndham, George, 28, 49. 

Young, Edward, 290. 



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